Paradox
by Kimmy.Tosh
Summary: All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is good men do nothing
1. Chapter 1

AN: Gosh, this brings back memories…. It's been a while. Firstly – thanks to mcj for her input, help and support. Secondly, unfortunately, the rights to these characters don't belong to me. The concept of 'Thunderbirds' is not my intellectual property. No financial consideration is or will be sought from the publishing of this story; it is for your entertainment only. This disclaimer does not apply to original characters or the story subject matter. And thirdly (finally!) some of the concepts in this tale could be considered a little sensitive so the rating will probably increase as the story progresses.

 **PARADOX**

All that is necessary for evil to triumph is good men do nothing

CHAPTER ONE:

" _The death toll now stands at 354 known civilian casualties and is expected to rise further as conflict continues in the coming days. Early reports suggest Russian forces entered the town of Kelmayalfa on the border between Russia and Gallium, at approximately one o'clock this morning. Russian President Dimitry Chevlock has made a statement defending his actions, claiming that Gallium should form part of Russia after the assassination of Gallium's First Minister, Sergei Vladisgov last week. Mr Vladisgov is alleged to have signed an agreement which gives Russia power over Gallium in the event of his death._

 _Meanwhile, mainstream media in Gallium are calling out for proof of this agreement amid suspicions that the document, if it exists at all, may have been faked by Vasilli Machov, Second Minister to Mr Vladisgov, and also cousin to Mr Chevlock. Mr Vladisgov was shot and killed last Thursday during a state visit from Russia's Energy Minister, in what some believe was a blatant assassination by Russian Forces to gain power over Gallium and its valuable supplies of Vorva. Gallium was acknowledged as a country in its own right 15 years ago after …."_

The image of the reporter froze suddenly and three loud bleeps emitted from the speakers on the opposite side of the room.

"Base, Calling Base from Thunderbird Five."

Virgil swivelled in his chair and tapped at the touchscreen integrated into the boardroom table in front of him. "Base, go ahead John."

John's image appeared from the screen. "You know, I talked to Dad about a radio protocol," he offered up a wan smile in the face of Virgil's blasé dissent. "I thought we were going to at least try to observe it."

Virgil waved a hand in an act of dismissal, "My radio protocol's been just fine for the last eight years and Dad hasn't signed off on anything new yet. Besides, I think that's the least of our problems right now."

John dipped his head towards the television screen on the wall, gesturing to the frozen image of the female reporter. "Gallium?"

"Yeah," Virgil's attention briefly returned to the television screen. "Pretty rough out there, huh?"

"You're telling me," John replied. "You think that's what this big meet up is about? Gallium?"

Virgil offered his brother a shrug, "I can't think of any other reason. We have to consider how we're going to handle it."

John nodded an acceptance but once more indicated the screen, "What's the latest?"

"I'm not sure, I was catching up before the meeting," Virgil pressed a few more virtual buttons on his touch screen and the television screen began to play once more.

"… _the discovery of the element Vorva, used in some forms of consumable energy. When Russian Authorities attempted to take control of the supply of Vorva, Sergei Vladisgov led the people to Independence with the inside assistance of Vasilli Machov who was then Russia's Foreign Councillor. Having formed a government, with Sergei Vladisgov at it's head, all seemed to be running well and the country prospered from the production of Vorva. However, over recent years, there have been several reports of conflict between Sergei Vladisgov and Vasilli Machov, mostly due to Vorva; with Vasilli Machov's manifesto of increased tax and exportation for Vorva in firm opposition to Sergei Vlasidgov's theories of reasonable profit but sustainable development._

 _With_ _the premature death of Mr Vladisgov, whether Vasilli Machov was involved or not, it would appear Russian forces are primed to take control once more. Gallium Government Authorities meanwhile have voted to invoke Emergency Administration Measures to prevent Vasilli Machov taking control until a full investigation is complete. Global concerns have been centred on the dire political situation and the high possibility that civil war in Gallium will lead to the destruction of Vorva. For a world reliant on it, the potential consequences could be devastating. The Joint Committee currently governing Gallium made a statement asserting their right of independence, going so far as to allege that Russia's invasion is an act of aggression under UN Guidelines. The World Security Council is due to meet this afternoon to discuss the issues raised by both sides, however, it's anticipated that Gallium will ask for military support which the Security Council will provide._

 _World Security forces are currently investigating the circumstances of Mr Vladisgov's death, with early reports indicating Russia are not cooperating with their investigation. Mr Chevlock has previously made it clear that Russia will withdraw from the World Council in the event they are not supported, and that they would consider any country allying themselves with World Security Council as an enemy to Russia. The world waits as the World Security Council makes a decision which some believe could lead to a Third World War. Maria Avert…"_

"It goes from bad to worse," John sighed, interrupting as the correspondent signed off. Virgil pressed a few more buttons and the screen winked out. "I'm glad Grandma isn't around to see this."

Virgil offered him a sad smile, "Yeah, me too." Glancing skyward, he added, "I like to think she's in a much better place."

"Who's in a better place?" Alan swaggered in and plopped himself down into one of the chairs, immediately reclining it and slouching.

"Penelope," Virgil covered easily, not wanting to remind anyone of the loss of the Tracy matriarch. "She's sent her apologies. Apparently, she's gone to Southern France to meet up with a prospective new agent. I think she's slowly convincing Dad that she needs some help."

Alan leant forward to the centre of the table and swiped a bottle of water, forgoing the glass and unscrewing the lid. "I hope this new agent is just as blonde and hot."

"Don't let Tin-Tin hear you say that," John warned.

"Don't let Tin-Tin hear you say what?" Tin-Tin and Brains entered the room, the former glanced expectantly at John as she pulled a chair out and delicately sat down.

Alan sent a panicked look in Virgil's direction but he was saved from intervening as Gordon entered, wearing a suit, complete with orange shirt and tie.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Alan laughed out loud at his older brother, successfully diverting Tin-Tin's attention.

"Dad said a business meeting," Gordon defended his dress sense as he pulled out the seat alongside Tin-Tin. "I dressed for business," he smoothed his tie down with a sense of pride.

Virgil smiled, "He meant International Rescue Business, not Business Business."

"Well, I think you look very smart, Gordon," Tin-Tin offered the aquanaut a winning smile. Alan's shakes of laughter soon died down when she added, "I do like a man in a suit." Reaching out to Gordon's sleeve, she caressed it. "There's something about the command it carries that's very attractive to a woman, you know."

Virgil risked a glance at John and rolled his eyes as Gordon and Brains both looked uncomfortable, the latter nervously pushing his glasses up his nose. Tin-Tin's attention turned to John, one eyebrow raised pointedly.

John returned it.

Touché; neither needed to look in Alan's direction to know he would be seething.

The silence was interrupted as Scott strode in, folder under one arm and large mug of coffee in the opposite hand. He took a seat alongside Virgil, eyeing the chair at the head of the table with barely concealed dread.

"Morning, John," he greeted his space-bound brother with a nod.

Behind him was the ever authoritative force that was Jeff Tracy. He duly took his place at the dreaded seat and any conversation or frivolity lingering in the air started to die away.

Gordon gently extracted himself from Tin-Tin's loosened grip. "If it's command you want, Tin-Tin," he whispered, inclining his head slightly towards his father. "He's your man."

Jeff frowned when he noticed Gordon's attire but didn't comment.

"Everyone," Jeff acknowledged around the table. "I'm sure you all know why we're here. I'd like to talk about the conflict in Russia and Gallium, and how this is going to affect us. As your Field Commander, Scott has had some level of discussion with me on the subject and we both felt it was a decision we should make as a team."

Virgil's eyes slid to Scott, surprised that this hadn't formed part of their normal confidence.

"The World Security Council will make a decision this afternoon about whether to support Gallium and risk war with Russia, or give Russia full and unrestricted access to the world's largest known source of Vorva." Jeff sighed out a breath of unease, "Frankly, I'm surprised Gallium hasn't sked us for assistance already, especially with the civilian casualties. We have to be prepared for the moment they make that call."

"What exactly are you asking us, Father?" John frowned. "Whether we think we should respond? What's the alternative? Not respond?"

Jeff let his head drop a little to one side, acknowledging that was indeed his intention.

"Surely we have a duty to help whoever needs us," Alan was quick to voice his opinion. "We're talking about civilian lives here; those people didn't sign up for this."

"But the service personnel did?" Gordon immediately took a position of opposition.

"Well at least they had a choice." Clearly Alan's tone had been influenced by Tin-Tin's flirting.

"If we get involved," Gordon ignored the comment, "we run the risk of the opposing county viewing us as a threat, or equally the supporting country viewing us as an ally." He sighed. "Dad, I thought the whole concept of International Rescue was one of political impartiality."

"This shouldn't be about politics," Alan was insistent. "It should be about saving people's lives."

Jeff responded to Gordon's point, "International Rescue can only exist in a politically impartial world whilst all parties agree to allow us to act with political impartiality. The World Security Council is being forced into making an allegiance one way or the other. I don't think it'll be long before the same happens to us."

"This can't not be about politics," John stepped in. "The ideal of International Rescue's existence being politically impartial is exactly that, an ideal. Realistically, we all know that we're allowed to exist. We rely on Government and Heads of State not acting aggressively for fear of what we have at our disposal." He hesitated, not really wanting to remind those present of the dreadful memories. "If nothing else, Virgil's run in with the Sentinel proved that. It's not that they haven't got the power, it's just that by mutual understanding they don't exercise it."

Virgil lowered his head, not yet ready to join the debate.

John continued, "Now we have to face the possibility that if we do intervene, we become targets ourselves."

"John's right," Jeff agreed. "The technology we have at our disposal could end any World War before it's even started if it fell into the wrong hands."

"Or it was taken in to the wrong hands by force," John elaborated.

Gordon's expression became thoughtful. "Father, just how close were they to realising who we were when those documents went missing for the AL4?"

"I'm led to believe they were very close," Jeff replied. "What's your point, Gordon?" he quipped as direct as ever.

"Well it's like John just said: it's not that those in authority haven't got the power, they just don't exercise it," Gordon explained. "When those documents went missing and we were pegged for the bad guys, they did exactly that, and they came pretty damned close to finding out who we were and where we were. What stops them doing that again? Not just Russia or Gallium but any of them?" He shrugged. "I know if I was a commander, of any military force in any country, knowing that the technology was out there, I'd want my hands on it. Even if my reasons were purely defensive."

"I agree," Scott spoke up. "I don't think it's just Gallium and Russia we need to consider here."

"So what do you suggest?" Alan was clearly shocked at the potential outcome of this decision. "We don't get involved for fear of 'what if's', and allow hundreds of people to die?"

"That's what's happened so far," Gordon pointed out. "No one's actually requested our help...which is odd in itself."

"The victims were nearly all from attacks through last night," John reported. "I've been in touch with one of our Agents in Mongolia and he seems to think there was some kind of communications black-out last night after Russia invaded."

"So, Russia deliberately prevented those civilians in Kelmayalfa from asking for help?" Alan tutted and shook his head. "That just shows the level of calculation that went into this attack." He took a moment to think before adding: "And that maybe Russia has already considered the implications of International Rescue getting involved, hence the black-out."

"Not necessarily," Scott shrugged that theory off. "A communications black-out that powerful, if attainable, is probably SOP for a military operation which involves attacking another country."

"An attack on a terrorist state," John reminded him, his tone indicating that he didn't entirely believe that.

"That depends on your definition of terrorism," Gordon pointed out. "These people have defended their land, their livelihoods from rich, greedy ba…." He checked himself, remembering the company he was in, "people." He changed "Besides, Gallium was acknowledged as a country by the World Security Council years ago so that line of argument is totally flawed. Particularly as Russia is part of the World Security Council."

"And voted in opposition of Gallium," John debated.

"But was in the minority," Gordon returned. "And fully accepts that the council operates on a majority verdict."

"The point remains," Jeff returned the debate back to the issue he originally raised. "As an Organisation, we need to consider our options."

"I don't see we have an option," Alan sat back, his mind made up and his arms folded resolutely across his chest. "International Rescue is a symbol of hope to everyone. " _Everyone,"_ he emphasised. "Irrespective of nationality, race or any other factor. If we don't respond we're condoning the deaths of civilians and it's catch 22; whether we act or not we're aligning ourselves with one country or the other by our actions or inaction."

John cleared his throat, uneasy at the notions he was about to voice, "Alan has a point. I'm not sure how comfortable I'd feel sunning myself on a tropical Island, sitting on the technology to save hundreds of lives but not using it."

"And it does kind of go against everything International Rescue stands for," Gordon agreed.

There was a silence around the table.

"Okay," Jeff nodded, picking up a stylus and starting to make notes on the virtual touch pad in front of him. "So, we have to do something. The question now becomes what? Are we happy to attend Gallium, if that call comes?"

"And, what about rescues outside Gallium and Russia?" John spoke up.

Alan threw his hands up in the air, "If we don't respond to any rescues we're not actually functioning," he pointed out. "We might as well pack up now."

Virgil thought he saw Scott flinch out the corner of his eye.

"We could do a lot to improve our security systems," Gordon pointed out. "That would make things safer for us out there."

"I agree, Gordon," Jeff nodded. "But we can talk about that later. First, we have to establish what we're prepared to do. So, in principle, what we're saying is that we're happy to continue attending any rescue we're called to?" He looked around the table.

Alan and Gordon both nodded, whilst John offered a shrug of agreement which suggested he'd go with the majority, either way. Jeff's attention turned to Virgil whose head remained bowed, still deep in thought. When Virgil didn't engage in eye contact, Jeff turned to Tin -Tin and Brains, "What about you two, what are your thoughts?"

"Well," Tin-Tin glanced at Brains, "whilst we don't regularly attend rescues, I appreciate that our opinions may not carry the weight that the others do…"

"Not at all, Tin-Tin," Jeff interrupted her. "This is a team decision. You're as much a part of that team as any of us around this table."

"Then, I agree with Alan," Tin-Tin smiled across the table at the youngest brother. "International Rescue is a symbol of hope to humanity and for humanity's sake we must not be embroiled in the politics of this. I know that's easier said than done but could we not contact the world government or the Security Council and ask for some kind of immunity? Or, perhaps a temporary truce when we're on the scene?"

Jeff nodded thoughtfully, "That's a good idea Tin-Tin, I can certainly look in to that."

"Of course, there's no way to enforce it." All eyes turned to Gordon and he raised his hands in an act of submission. "Hey, I'm just saying, treaties, truces, they're all great on paper but out there in the real world, they're worth squat." He paused, sensing the frowns of disapproval around him. "If we're going to put ourselves in this kind of situation, we need to be prepared to defend ourselves. And by that, I mean, the big guns."

John was shaking his head, "We're not soldiers; this isn't about playing Cowboys and Indians, Gordon."

"Of course we're not soldiers, that's the point!" Gordon returned, his frustration beginning to surface. "You're talking about going in to a warzone. Anyone who thinks we're just going to land and all the fighting will stop whilst we rescue all the civilians which, incidentally everyone's trying to kill, isn't living in the real world." He looked from brother to brother; acutely aware he was becoming more unpopular by the minute. He adopted what he hoped was a softer tone, "You're talking about entering a world where people are shooting at each other. They're not all lined up with the good guys on one side and the bad guys on the other," he shot a pointed glare at John. "It's chaos. People don't use their brains or stop to ask questions, they shoot. They shoot to kill." He lowered his head for a few seconds and then raised it again, looking towards John. "And that's before we even consider Russia going all out to attack us if they perceive us to be allying ourselves with Gallium."

Tin-Tin looked offended and Gordon winced.

"He's right," Scott agreed with a sense of bitterness. "The potential gain of technologies far outweighs the risk of breaching any treaty." He looked towards Tin-Tin. "And war is war, casualties are an unfortunate consequence of war, especially civilian ones."

"I understand that," Tin-Tin conceded.

"Don't rule it out," Jeff interrupted her again, sensing the despondence. "I'll look in to it. The World Security Council may be able to offer us some kind of armed escort or support."

"I don't think we should forsake all that International Rescue stands for," Tin-Tin reiterated her original point, despite the opposition, "just because Russia got greedy and we're faced with a few operational problems." She looked around the room. "Never give up, at any cost. Isn't that what International Rescue's motto is?"

Jeff nodded again, a glint of pride in his eyes. "You're right Tin-Tin." He turned his attention to Brains. "What do you think, son?"

"I … err…. I can see …err…. B-both sides," Brains began. "I ah….agree with ev-everything …err… Tin-Tin s…says. However, I err… do think…we….err….have a re-responsibility to the …err… world…. to use our … err… technology c-carefully. And, err…. not t-take ….. err… un-unnecessary risks to its … err…. S-safety." He paused to see how his point was being received.

"I couldn't agree more," Jeff's encouragement spurred him on.

"I err… have some err… s-security updates, I've been …err… w-working on," Brains continued. "Perhaps we could err… p-push them through a … err… a bit q-quicker," he raised a hand to place his spectacles a little higher on his nose; a nervous habit he had acquired of late.

"Agreed," Jeff nodded. "Take whatever resources you need to get those in place as soon as possible, Brains."

"I err…" Brains continued a little more apprehensively than normal. "I'm also …err… a-acutely a… aware that the one p…person who this is err… most likely to affect…. Err…. Hasn't commented." He looked across the table to his fellow engineer, uneasily. "V…Virgil?"

Virgil looked up but didn't actually make any attempt to speak.

"Brains is right," Tin-Tin agreed, studying her fellow engineer and flicking her eyes towards Scott. "It's all very well us making these decisions sat around this table, but on the balance of probabilities it'll be Scott and Virgil who have to take action."

"Son?" Jeff encouraged. "You're probably the one who has the most exposure to the people?"

Virgil felt like the eyes of everyone were on him.

"Scott does too," Virgil attempted to deflect. "I don't have a military background." He didn't allow eye contact long enough for his father to make any meaningful assessment. "I'm probably not the best person to comment."

Scott recognised a cop-out when he heard one. "You're the one who's on the front line. What do you think?"

"I think…" Virgil hesitated, not really sure. "I think you're all right. As Alan and Tin-Tin said, International Rescue is a beacon of hope to people in dire situations. To take that away from the whole world…" he shrugged. "We have to have a whole heap of justification."

A few moments of silence ticked by.

"And … is war justification?" Jeff asked.

"We don't even know that there's going to be a war yet," Virgil tried to put things into context.

"It's highly probable," Jeff sat forward, looking around the faces at the table. His family. "In fact I have it on good authority that's it's more or less guaranteed. The World Security Council will support Gallium."

There were sharp intakes of breath and several gasps around the table.

"Russia will withdraw from the World Council and act in opposition," Jeff concluded.

"Can Russia really do that?" Alan asked, wide-eyed. "I mean, we're talking one country against, close to, the rest of the world. That's a hell of a lot of countries."

"If Russia leaves the World Council," Scott butted in, the voice of explanation, "it's highly likely that other countries will follow. Those that trade closely with Russia or rely on exports, not to mention the oil and power resources they have. There are a lot of countries out there who wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of Russia, probably wouldn't even survive financially without Russia and the World Council is only powerful whilst everyone subscribes to it." He heaved a sigh, one corner of his mouth higher than the other in an expression much like a grimace, "If enough countries leave, the council will lose power and the world will end up divided; Russia and her allies against everyone else."

"Talk about a step back in evolution," Alan shook his head. "That's insane!"

"That depends on which side of the fence you're sitting," Gordon grinned suggestively. "I still say the best defence is a good offense."

"So," Jeff wasn't quite ready to go down that road again, sensing John bristling on the screen he diverted attention back to Virgil, "assuming that war is declared. Virgil?"

"Maybe," Virgil leant forward on the table and twiddled a pen. "I guess I agree we should do something…" he began. "I just don't know where we're going to draw that line: who's a casualty of war and who's a rescue victim?" He took in a breath. "I agree with what Scott said, civilian death in war is inevitable, in fact it's actively encouraged. I think it'd be naïve to think that armed forces are only going to attack armed forces, despite all the World Security Council directives to exactly that end. But, if we start interfering, we leave ourselves wide open for those countries to have just cause to come after us, which, we've already established, they have the power to do. On the other hand, we have the technology to save those civilian lives and to not use that…." He sighed and shook his head. "John's right, I don't think I could sit around doing nothing in the knowledge we could save lives out there. And most importantly," he raised a hand to Tin-Tin and Alan, "it goes against everything International Rescue stands for."

There were a few more moments of silence.

Virgil opened his mouth a few times amid the feeling that he should voice the thoughts circling his mind, but hesitant to do so for the implications it might bring forth. Jeff, astute as ever, could see his dilemma.

"Something else, Son?" he prompted in a tone that sounded more like a father than the command he'd yielded since entering the room.

Virgil ran a hand across his face and then gulped. Eventually he shook his head, unwilling to divulge his thoughts.

Jeff raised an eyebrow of encouragement. "This has to be a joint a decision. It's imperative that we're all honest here today about what we really think."

Virgil knew the comments, despite being directed at the entire room, were intended for him.

"I don't really want to be the one to say this out loud but…" Virgil hesitated and leant forward on the table.

"But…" Scott took his turn to prompt his closest brother along.

"But…." Virgil continued, watching the others closely in an attempt to interpret any reaction from his colleagues. "If we're considering not attending a call because our technology may be compromised and potentially have an effect on the outcome of a war, surely what we're actually saying is that we can't adequately protect the technology we have." He looked directly across at Brains who was nodding and Gordon, who was slowly moving his head in agreement.

"I a-agree," Brains supplied. "Our s-security is … not i-ideal, the concern is v-valid."

Virgil looked around again. He knew his brothers were educated men and that they were probably having the same thoughts.

A deep breath.

Then another.

Finally, he found his voice. "If we can't protect the technology in the current climate, maybe we should be asking ourselves if we should be operating at all?"


	2. Chapter 2

TWO:

"If we can't protect the technology in the current climate, maybe we should be asking ourselves if we should be operating at all?"

Silence descended once more.

Not the pregnant, expectant silence of before but one that was heavy, oppressive and all encompassing.

"You're suggesting we cease operations all together?" Scott recovered first; his tone rising in clear surprise. Of all the things for Virgil to come out with, that was one he hadn't given much consideration to.

"Don't get me wrong, guys, I don't want that to happen. I'm just saying is all…." Virgil clarified and evidenced the truth of his words with a meaningful look around his family. "We're talking about a duty we have to the rest of the world to be responsible with the technology. If we can't protect it then maybe the responsible option, the safest option, for the world is not to have access to the technology."

The tick of the clock continued to be the only sound. To Virgil, it seemed like even the local wildlife had become mute, horrified at the notion.

He tried to fill the gap. "I don't want that any more than you guys but….I guess what I'm saying is that we can't operate if we can't protect the technology, which is pretty much what we've just said, so…." He trailed off.

"So?" Scott prompted. "So what you're saying is we just stop?"

"Maybe," Virgil looked away, raising his shoulders in a shrug. "Or…"

Gordon could see his brother was struggling and took over, "Or maybe we need to do a better job of balancing the risk against the benefit; the risk of the technology being used in warfare with what protection we can provide ourselves, against the benefit of saving lives."

"Which, at the end of the day, is what we're about," Virgil agreed, thankful for Gordon's assistance. Never one to come up with a problem without at least the suggestion of a solution, he carried on, "We've always prioritised our most advanced technologies in the ways they can help us save lives, maybe we should be looking at how they could save our lives?"

Jeff was nodding and taking notes. "I can see where you're at," he agreed. "It's a valid point. I hope working together with Tin-Tin and Brains, you three can address some of those security concerns over the next few weeks."

He paused for a moment and Gordon chimed in again. "If we can upgrade security to a level where we can offer some assurance that we're not going to lose control of the craft," He shrugged, his orange tie falling on to the table. "I don't see why we can't continue operations. But, like I said, we need to be prepared to defend ourselves, and the technology."

Jeff was nodding again, towards Virgil this time, "Whilst I also understand the legitimacy of what you're saying about being able to protect the craft, Virgil, I think Gordon's right. If we can upgrade our security procedures and processes towards a more robust approach and, of course, we'll all in agreement, we can continue operations. But, we need to be confident that when we go out there, we can defend ourselves."

"Death is inevitable in war," John countered. "We're back to marking a line in the sand we don't cross- where should it be and how can we even begin to do that?" He raised a hand to run across his face; an act of frustration and exasperation. "Who are we to make that judgment, with our western connotations of right and wrong? I mean, can we make these decisions for the rest of the world without consultation?" He let out a breath through pursed lips. "Who are we to say that the rest of the world _isn't_ ready for the technology we have or that they wouldn't use it responsibly?"

Gordon groaned and rubbed at his eyes, equally as irritated as John, "For Pete's sake, John, this is an operational discussion. Not an academic debate."

"Hey, I'm entitled to my opinion," John fired back before the words had left Jeff's mouth. "I'm not sure I'd want someone else's death on my conscious, no matter what the circumstances." He paused to try to calm himself but he wasn't entirely sure he was successful. "You're talking about playing God, International Rescue is about saving lives, not taking them," he said tightly.

"Are you forgetting I did exactly that?" Gordon's tone was becoming defensive, irritation bordering on antagonism. "And I was wearing an International Rescue uniform at the time too!"

"That was different," Scott levelled the debate out, hoping this wasn't going to get out of hand. "That saved hundreds of lives and that guy was causing the CPU on the Fireflash to fail intentionally."

"You can't know that," John was playing devil's advocate. "You didn't stop to ask him; he could've been fixing it."

"John," Jeff's collected tone broke up the debate completely. "We're getting a little off track here."

"John's right though," Virgil agreed, providing John with some degree of support. "It's bad enough that people die when we can't save them, without deliberate acts of violence."

Gordon raised his hands up in the air, "You're kidding right?" He addressed John, not content to let it drop. Scott grazed his top lip against his teeth, patience started to strain. "You're looking at this all wrong, you're over-thinking it. Scott and I know what it's like; when it's kill or be killed." His tone was blunt. "You pull the trigger. To hell with your text books, or the World Security Council."

Scott ignored the contempt in the aquanaut's tone. "So, if we make the decision to carry on operations, with upgraded security and the ability to defend ourselves, would you be comfortable going in to a war zone?"

Virgil faltered, "I… I guess…. I guess so. I'm not sure."

Jeff and Scott met eyes across the table, both sensing that Virgil was holding back.

Scott took up the gauntlet. "Like Gordon said, there's also the possibility that we become targets ourselves, particularly as there's going to be significantly more of them than us." Scott paused, spending a few moments studying Virgil's body language. "If we're going to continue operations, we need to be prepared for how we'll respond to that." He eyed his closest brother for the smallest of signs or signals but none were forthcoming. "Gordon's right, if it comes to taking a life to maintain the security and safety of our technology; we have to be prepared to do that."

"I can't believe we're discussing actually killing people, here." John raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing them in incredulity and shaking his head as if this experience was some kind of hallucination that he might wake up from at any moment. "To protect our technology?" He let out a short burst of laughter bordering on hysterical. "What you're talking about …" he hissed out, and then checked himself, taking a deep breath and starting again. "What you're talking about," he continued in a more level tone, "is essentially no different to most terrorist organisations."

"John…."

Scott didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.

"I'm sorry you guys," John looked around the table, "But I am the only one thinking this is crazy?" He looked at each of the participants to this discussion in turn, his expression only becoming more disbelieving: "You're sounding less like International Rescue and more like…." He struggled to find a suitable analogy, "the … the Tracy Family Mafia!"

Alan barked out a mocking laugh and then hurriedly bowed his head in the face of Scott's glare.

"John…" Jeff was reproaching, "I think that's a little dramatic."

"John," Scott tried the sensible approach, purposely keeping his tone low and resolving the debate before John could get a word in against their father. "We have to be prepared for it. Doesn't mean we're going to go out there shooting everyone that comes within 5 miles of us."

"Look," John scrubbed a hand across his face yet again and sat forward, causing his head to fill the screen, "We have to be realistic here…" he trailed off, realising that he was definitely in the minority and that he needed to choose his words carefully. "What happens when one of us shoots someone? How does that look to all the Governments and Heads of States we're relying on to not act aggressively towards us?" he tried to keep his voice even, tapering his own feelings as this discussion, oh so ludicrous to him, appeared to be a very real possibility for his family. "Or even the people we're rescuing? And how do we stand legally?" He raised a hand, held it in mid-air for a moment as if he hadn't meant to raise it at all and then let it drop. "Not to mention morally. Voltaire said: it is forbidden to kill, therefore all murderers are punished … …. unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of a trumpet. But we're not moving to the sounds of anyone else's trumpet are we?"

"That's exactly the kind of conversation I'll be having with the World Security Council, John," Jeff tried to appease him whilst Gordon mumbled something about John not being a good mover full stop which elicited a giggle from Tin Tin and another glare from Scott. Far from breaking the tension, John's face seemed to darken. Jeff ignored them and passed over the interruption, "And that's the very purpose of this meeting, to raise exactly these points so as we can think about them, talk them through and come to a decision."

"Best defence is a good offence," Gordon repeated. "In case no one's noticed this, we all carry laser firearms already. Did you think they were there just to balance out the weight distribution of a sash?" His sarcasm was unbecoming and despite being born from exasperation, was inappropriate.

"Gordon," Jeff shook his head in gesture that was unmistakeable a warning. This meeting was becoming increasingly difficult to control. He appreciated it was a sensitive subject and to some extents a very personal one, hence he'd allowed some leeway but now things were starting to get out of hand.

John heaved a sigh that rustled the speakers and looked away from the screen. When he turned back, he appeared more collected but his eyes were still wide with alarm. "You're condoning murder," he said, disbelief still weighing heavily in his tone.

"No," Scott tried to remain calm in the face of his brother's clear frustration. "We're talking about using force to defend ourselves. We would only use ultimate force if we absolutely had to."

"That's a snap decision," John countered, dismissive of Scott's argument. "People have years of training to make those kinds of judgements, how do you know whether the guy running towards you is aggressive or petrified? We all know if people are in a situation so bad they need International Rescue, they're not exactly going to be thinking rationally."

"We'll just have to trust our judgement on that," Jeff took the final word sensing more conflict was looming. "The question is whether you're prepared to make that call out there." He looked around the table. "Not just Virgil, any of you."

Tin-Tin was shuffling in her chair nervously and looking at Alan, who was nodding his head.

"I am," Alan declared. "If it means International Rescue can continue, I think we have to."

John opened his mouth to argue and Gordon leant forward in a position of opposition again.

Scott could see the potential for yet another derailment and quickly diverted the subject, "I think that's something we should all take some time to consider. We're agreed for now that International Rescue will continue. We've got some big decisions to make but they're not ones any of us should rush in to."

"Agreed," Jeff offered his eldest son the slightest inkling of a smile; Scott was clearly of the same mind-set as he was as far as controlling the meeting was concerned.

Jeff could see it was time to draw things to a close.

"I'd like to arrange a follow up meeting this time next week to make some decisions but Scott's right, you all need time to consider the things we've talked about today."

"What about any calls that come in within the next week?" Gordon pointed out. "Surely the risk is there now." He looked towards his father. "Maybe we could make some operational changes," he suggested, "temporarily".

"Do you have any suggestions, Gordon?" Scott took a more active role.

"Well, we could double crew if and when we attend anything over the next week," Gordon raised the suggestion. "At least there'd be more of us on the ground." He hesitated for a second. "And I know this is a touchy subject," he said as a precursor, "but we could get a few hours training in, to make sure we're familiarised with what limited weaponry we do have on the craft."

"Well, I'm no combat pilot," Virgil scoffed. "I think the Sentinel proved that."

Scott's head swivelled to face Virgil, alarmed at the undertone of derision in that comment but now wasn't the time to call him on it.

"Perhaps it would be better for Scott to take Thunderbird Two directly to the scene," Virgil proposed. "He's more…."

"Virgil…" Scott attempted to interrupt.

"… experienced and it would reduce the craft on the ground if we didn't use Thunderbird One," Virgil finished.

"It would also reduce the speed of attendance at the danger zone and the ability to fully consider all the angles for any potential rescue operation," Scott countered. "Not to mention the fact that Virgil is far superior at handling Two than I am," he was staring at his brother in surprise but Virgil didn't acknowledge him.

"So we need to balance the risk of One falling in to the wrong hands against the benefits she brings to any rescue," Jeff summed up. "I'll consider it. It's an option," he mused. "What about weaponry?"

"Ah … actually," Brains raised a finger, "I'm glad you err… s-said that. I'd like to err….w-withdraw the err… laser guns," he advised the other occupants of the room.

"Ahh, yes," Jeff continued. "Brains circulated a memo just before we came in to the meeting, I doubt anyone's seen it yet." Several blank expressions suggested that was indeed the case, and so Jeff explained further, "There are reports from Sweden that Laser Guns can cause radiation exposure in those who use or carry them. Brains and I have agreed to withdraw them until he'd had a chance to run some tests." He saw the horrified expression on Gordon's face. "I'm not suggesting you shouldn't carry firearms, just not lasers. And, just until Brains has made absolutely sure they're safe."

"Laser guns are far more accurate," Scott highlighted, a hint of unease creeping in. "We're talking about going in to a warzone, and now we're going without the most accurate form of personal defence we have." He paused. "Not to mention the fact that we're all out of practice; I can't shoot a live firearm half as accurately as I could a laser."

"Speak for yourself," Gordon's smirk became arrogant but Scott was content to let it go, taking it as an indication that the debate hadn't upset his brother unduly. Anyone else around the table, he couldn't be so sure.

"It's unfortunate that it's happened at the same time as the conflict in Gallium," Jeff recognised. "But I want to be sure that there's no risk with you using them." He paused to look at Scott and nod his head in acknowledgement, "And I accept there's a training need there. That's why I'll be expecting you all to get some hours in down at the range."

Jeff looked around the table one by one, taking a moment to examine them all.

"I didn't expect to come to any conclusions today about the things we've discussed," he began in closing, "but I want to give you all time to think about what's been said here. I appreciate we've only skimmed the top of the iceberg but I think that's plenty to be thinking about for now. Talk about it amongst yourselves if you want, you all know my door is always open." He consulted his touch pad, "I'll check everyone's schedules but I'd like to meet back here in one week to make a decision about how we go forward with this. Until then, International Rescue will operate as I see fit." There were a few nods around the table. "Brains," Jeff turned directly to him, "I want those updates in place as soon as possible." The chief engineer nodded his assent. "Scott, I want you to organise for some personal protection classes, hand to hand combat, tactical planning, that kind of thing. Get on to Penelope and revisit the personal training package she put together when we went live. Talk to her; she'll be able to provide a different angle for you to consider," Scott too, nodded his agreement. "John," Jeff tried not to hesitate when he saw the look of disgust in John's eyes, "keep your ear to the ground, anything you think I should know about, call it straight through whatever the time of day."

"Yes, sir," John's reply was the epitome of professionalism, despite himself.

"Is there anything else anyone would like to raise?" Jeff asked.

A few seconds ticked by.

"Actually," John spoke up, despite several rolls of the eyes from the earth bound occupants in the room. "I wanted to talk about the radio protocol."

"Agreed," Jeff didn't even need to hear him out. "John raises some valid points; we're far too slack with our radio communications, which is highlighted by the situation in Gallium. John's sent some guidance to all of you last week with varying ranges of compliance but from now on, I want you all to be more precise, observe call signs and keep it succinct. Scott can work on a proper protocol. Once it's signed up, I expect you all to give it your full support and cooperation."

"Already on it, Father," Scott patted the folder in front of him.

Several murmurs of agreement were forthcoming and John's mouth still hung slightly open at the ease of that motion being passed.

"I want you to all think about your positions here," Jeff summed up. "You all decided to become a part of International Rescue eight years ago and for that, I'm eternally grateful. But the time's come to reconsider that position." He looked down to his hands and when he raised his head, he appeared sombre. "International Rescue, if it continues, isn't going to be the International Rescue we're been operating for the last eight years and I appreciate this isn't what you agreed to." He paused, considering his next words. "Now's your opportunity to walk away. You've all given eight years of your lives to this organisation and I couldn't have asked for better from any one of you." He stopped and took a deep breath in, blowing it out slowly. "Thank you."

The meeting drew to a more natural close as Virgil stood up and walked out. Jeff's eyes went to Scott, who was clearly concerned and nodded to the door indicating that, yes, he should follow.

Scott did so, as close as he dared through the maze of corridors which ran through the Villa until he reached a big metal door leading to the Service Bay, which promptly slammed shut in his face. He stood there for a few moments, debating on whether to enter anyway, but came to the conclusion that Virgil would probably benefit from some time. Taking a meander back up to the ground-levels of the Villa, Scott found himself heading back towards his father's office, via the coffee machine in the Kitchen. On arrival, he poked his head around the door and raised one of the mugs he was carrying.

Jeff looked up briefly from the video call he was engaged in and waved a hand signalling Scott to come in. "Thanks, Will, I'd appreciate that," he offered the screen a sad smile. "I'll speak to you this afternoon. Bye."

Scott watched his father remove his spectacles and run a hand across his eyes. "Thanks, Son, I could use this." Jeff took the proffered mug.

"Everything okay?" Scott asked as he dropped in to one of the comfy chairs.

"International Rescue isn't the only organisation in question here," Jeff replaced the spectacles and looked at his eldest son.

"Stock falling?" Scott was surprised. Given their military links in the business world, although prosper didn't seem the right word, Scott had been pretty confident that a War wouldn't adversely affect the Business. It was a well-documented fact that war meant money. "I know things aren't good right now, with the economy as it is and everything, but we've been okay so far. And, surely a war would…" he didn't finish that sentence, fearful he may sound crass.

Jeff opened his mouth to respond but was distracted as another call flashed up, his attention diverted back to the screen. "Virgil, everything okay?"

"I'm down in the service bay and I've just noticed that one of the tracking rods on the Mole has some corrosion on it," Virgil's voice filtered into the room, distorted by the echo from the bare walls. "I'm going to change it but it'll be out of service for the next few hours."

Jeff frowned, "How bad is it? I'm a little concerned that wasn't picked up on the post-use checks."

"Well," Virgil explained, "You can hardly see it; the programme would only pick up on corrosion affecting performance or having a weakening impact of 1.75% or more. I doubt it would be enough." He paused and Scott imagined he was shrugging. "As I noticed it, I just figured I'd change it before it gets any worse."

"Okay, Virgil," Jeff seemed to accept that there was nothing procedural amiss. "Let me know when it's complete." He reached forward to end the call and directed his attention back towards Scott. "Did you get to talk to him?"

Scott shook his head, "When the Service Bay door slammed shut in my face, I figured I'd give him some time to think things over first."

A smile pulled at the corners of Jeff's mouth, despite the seriousness of the situation it was reassuring to hear the easy way his two eldest sons communicated. And to know that John wasn't all that different.

"Did you talk to John?" Scott enquired as if he was reading his mind.

Jeff rolled his eyes as if the question was unnecessary. "Busy signal. I figured the same as you." He heaved a sigh. "You _are_ going to speak with Virgil?"

"Yeah," Scott confirmed with a nod, even though it wasn't really a question at all. "He just needs a little time," he said confidently.

"Good," Jeff looked across at Scott and adopted a serious expression. "I don't need to tell you how important it is that both Virgil and John are on board, for International Rescue to continue."

"We both knew they'd be the most difficult to convince," Scott reminded his father, slouching a little in his seat. "Judging from today though, I think you've got the most difficult task."

"Hmm…" Jeff acknowledged. "I think you're probably right." He raised the mug in his hands. "Perhaps we should have a word with Gordon too," he sipped, "I know he feels strongly…"

"That's to be expected given his career," Scott butted in as he stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.

"… even so, that wasn't his finest hour." Jeff paused a moment to consider how much Scott had on his shoulders at the moment. "I'll talk with him."

"Gordon understands a command structure," Scott pointed out. "I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't approach you."

As if he was listening, there was a gentle knock on the door and Gordon appeared.

Unseen by Gordon, Scott looked pointedly in his father's direction as if to validate the comment he'd just made.

Gordon clearly felt he was intruding. "I'll come back later, it's not important."

"Actually," Scott moved to stand up and placed his own mug down decisively on the coffee table. "I think I'm going to give Virgil a hand with that tracking rod, it'll get done twice as quick with two of us."

Jeff offered him a nod of acknowledgement, admiring Scott's perception and ingenuity. With that, Scott made his way out the room, and down the corridor where Gordon's opening gambit of: "I wanted to apologise for this morning, it's just I …."could be heard.

XxxxX

The Service Bay at the back of Thunderbird Two's hangar was cool when Scott entered, unlike Virgil who was clearly struggling to remove the damaged component from the Mole single-handedly. The sweat was dripping from his brow and he'd resorted to pushing his whole weight on the rod in an effort to dislodge it, grunting intermittently. Scott took a moment to consider that perhaps this kind of physical aggression was a good outlet but as the rod came loose and dropped at one end, he quickly stepped forward to take the weight.

The momentum of Virgil's body weight sent the other end forward too but Scott caught it.

"Thanks," Virgil panted, looking up at his brother in surprise that the whole thing hadn't clattered to the floor.

"No problem," Scott gestured with his head to the side of the bay and without further comment they moved as one, carrying the rod and placing it on the floor. "Dad said you were down here," Scott picked up a rag and wiped his oily hands.

"You didn't work that out for yourself after following me all the way down here?" Virgil was no fool.

Scott smiled. "I got the impression you didn't want company."

Virgil shrugged, "What changed your mind?" He turned away from Scott as realisation hit, "Ahh, Dad wants you to convince me."

Scott was beginning to feel like he was walking a very fine line between being his father's puppet and his brother's confidant. The joys of middle management. "I just figured I'd give you a hand."

Virgil had already turned back to the Mole and was lowering himself to the ground to take a good look at the housing unit. "With changing a tracking rod, or reviewing my career plan? Come on, Scott, might as well get it over with. Let's hear it."

Scott's forehead furrowed. " _Are_ you reviewing your career?" He was beginning to think maybe this wasn't going to go quite as smoothly as it could have.

Virgil didn't look at him.

Scott was just considered that maybe he should let the subject drop when Virgil spoke again, head partially obstructed by the Mole.

"Do you think I'm a hypocrite?"

Scott leant against the wall, still wringing his hands in the rag despite them being oil free now. "A hypocrite? Why would I think that?"

"I don't necessarily object to these people getting killed," Virgil's words were strained but Scott reasoned it was due to the force he was exerting through the spanner he was wielding. "I just don't want to be the one to pull the trigger."

"Having a moral conscience doesn't make you a hypocrite, Virgil," Scott replied, in the hope he was being tactful.

"Does it make me a coward?" Virgil's voice was muffled by the Mole.

Scott thought perhaps he'd misheard. "What?"

"I said," Virgil leant back on his knees, removing his head from inside the housing but still not facing Scott. "Does it make me a coward?" he repeated.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Scott was alarmed at the amount of introversion that went in to that statement. In all their lives Virgil had never once given any indication that he thought his career choices were any less worthy than his brothers. "You're one of the bravest men I know."

Virgil scoffed, "You and Gordon, you're ex-military," he began. "Even John and Alan trained with NASA, alright it's not the military but it's pretty close." He finally turned around to face Scott, sitting on the floor with his back against the Mole. "Me? I'm just an engineer, Scott."

Scott moved so as he was leant with his back against the wall. "You're not 'just' anything," he told his brother firmly, shocked at the direction this conversation had taken. "You're a damned good engineer and you're an even better pilot."

"Hmm…" Virgil took some time to consider that and although he didn't disagree out loud, Scott could see it he was thinking it. "I'm not like you though," he said, his tone now soft and melancholy, "I don't think I could do it."

Scott didn't need to clarify that they were talking about killing someone.

"And I accept," Virgil continued to explain himself, his eyes focused in his lap where his fingers were turning the spanner over in a continuous, repetitive motion. "The risk has always been there but the probability of it happening has always been low, now…" he shrugged, "it's less of a probability and more of a certainty."

"Trust me," Scott replied, offering his brother some consolation. "If someone had a gun to my head, you'd pull the trigger."

"Would I?" Virgil looked up at his brother, the uncertainty all over his face. "What if I hesitated?" He was clearly distressed at the thought. "What if I hesitated and it cost you your life?"

"We make life and death decisions every day," Scott reasoned. "That's no different to prioritising a rescue plan, knowing that there will be people we can't rescue."

"Sure it is," Virgil responded. "Those people would've died anyway; their families are victims of natural disasters or terrible accidents. They're not murdered. There's a difference between not being able to save someone and taking their life."

"A fact they must've considered before they joined up," Scott pointed out.

"Not necessarily, there's still conscription in Russia isn't there? Besides, they're just following orders," Virgil returned, evidencing just how much he'd thought about this. "And what about their families and their children? I know how I would've felt if that message had come about you or Gordon."

"There's always going to be those casualties, Virgil," Scott tried to explain in a rational way. "It's a war, people are going to die."

"So why do we have to be the ones to kill them?" Virgil's frustration was evident in his tone, not just at the situation but at himself.

"Okay," Scott could see he wasn't going to win this debate. "So, what's the alternative? Walk away now?"

"Maybe," Virgil admitted reluctantly, going back to turning the spanner over in his lap.

"What then?" Scott tried to quell his growing unease by taking a deep breath but it didn't seem to have any effect. "You think you're just going to walk in to a job? A normal life? A relationship?"

"I don't know, Scott," Virgil shrugged, feebly.

"Not working isn't an option for you, you'd go insane," Scott was certain, he hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he was feeling. "Do you think anyone's going to want to employ someone with an eight year gap in their CV?" he shook his head. "Or someone they think's been sitting around on a tropical island for the last eight years making the most of his father's money?"

"I could work for Dad for a little while," the conversation was giving Virgil time to think things through out loud. "Or Murdoch James would offer me a place with them in England? He's always trying to get me to look over designs for him," Virgil smiled and Scott's was surprised at the amount of pride in that comment, "and I've built up a good relationship with him since I've been working that contract with them."

"You said yourself," Scott pointed out, anxiety creeping in and rising higher by the second. "You couldn't sit around knowing we have the technology to save people but not using it."

Virgil appeared surprised at Scott's jump of logic. "Doesn't mean I have to be the one using it," he paused for a moment and then his eyes lit up. "Hey, I could help Brains out more. Take a more active role behind the scenes with International Recue."

The pit of Scott's stomach was dropping closer and closer to the ground.

He played his ace.

"Virgil," he sighed, a little unevenly. "You know…. This is your choice and you've got a lot to think about here, we all have, but …" he hesitated. "I'm telling you now, there's no way in hell I'm going out there without you." Scott watched the disbelief pass across his brother's face. "Dad was right; this has to be a unanimous decision. If one of us walks away, we all walk away."

Virgil grimaced. "No pressure then."

Scott made one last-ditch attempt, "International Rescue is in your blood. It's been your life's work." He rotated his neck, hoping to ease the tension and then got to his feet, "You were there for the conception, the birth, the teething troubles…"

"You make it sound like a child." Virgil interrupted.

"Well I guess in some ways it is," Scott shrugged and moved across to the shiny new tracking rod leaning against the other wall. "We've all given up our conventional lives for International Rescue, dedicated ourselves to the Organisation in one way or another."

Scott heard rather than saw Virgil come to his feet behind him and move to pick up the other end of the tracking rod.

"If any one of us decided not to continue, International Rescue would be over."


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

Ten hours after the future of International Rescue had been debated; Scott and Virgil found themselves doing what Scott and Virgil did best.

The loud thump of metal on metal echoed down the non-descript hallways as the heavy door opened with great force and swung erratically on its hinges before bouncing back in the direction from whence it had come.

Scott deftly avoided facial injury, steadied the door with both hands: "Ladies," he gave them his trade-mark winning smile, "International Rescue at your service. If you'd come this way please."

The trip to the surface was uneventful and the Mole showed no indication that a few hours ago, a large proportion of it had been in pieces scattered around the Service Bay Floor. The twelve women, tourists trapped in an underground bunker during an explosion at an old war museum, warmed themselves with heated blankets and hot drinks.

"Any injuries to report?" The radio crackled to life with the sounds of an anxious brother. Virgil was clearly not content to remain on the surface assisting local authorities with clearing the rubble.

"Negative, Firefly. All on board are A-Okay." Scott could see where he was coming from; the Mole was a two man operation but that discussion was going to be for the debrief, not the danger zone. "ETA surface, three minutes. Over."

"FAB, Scott. I'm almost done here. RV Thunderbird Two in five minutes." There was a pause. "Over."

Scott stifled a grin.

If this rescue was anything to go by, Virgil was struggling to keep his communications concise and relevant, in line with John's new radio protocol. He was clearly concerned for Scott's safety but whether that was because he was operating a two man machine single-handedly, because the Mole had only been back in action a matter of minutes before the Rescue call came in or because he was surrounded by women, Scott wasn't entirely sure.

"FAB, Mole standing by."

Once levelled out and on the surface, Scott used the push-button mechanism and the doors obediently opened. He nodded sporadically as his passengers alighted, offering him various words of gratitude.

He was taken aback when a hand reached out to activate the doors again and they closed with another hiss.

"Hey!" Scott came up short when he registered the firearm pointed at his head. The woman was slight in build, a scarf covered the majority of her face which Scott was adamant wasn't there when he'd pulled her from the bunker. He was tempted to tackle her but her stance, coupled with the glint in her eyes, told him she could handle herself. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting your attention." Her accent was crisp. British. Like Penelope's.

"Okay, you've got it," Scott replied, attempting to calculate her reactions. "Now, what do you want?"

"Just a moment of your time," she returned his shrewd gaze. "Remember a man called Kasim Tamplar?"

Scott frowned. He did indeed remember but he wasn't prepared to give too much away. "Kasim Templar? You're not working for him; Terrorist Organisation don't recruit women for this kind of thing." He narrowed his eyes. "And I thought all terrorists were chauvinists by definition. Did I miss the regime change?"

The creases at the corners of her eyes wrinkled and he deduced from that she was smirking behind her scarf.

"You missed the question." Her voice relaxed a little. Her stance did not. "He's the man responsible for manufacturing weapons grade uranium in Sierra Leone. Specifically, he's the one you informed the World Security Council about."

"Ahh, I remember that," Scott feigned sudden memory of the incident: they'd inadvertently stumbled across a processing plant whilst rescuing a family from certain heat exhaustion in the Sahara Desert. "Well, technically, we didn't blow that whistle."

"No," the woman returned. "You got someone else to do that for you. Unfortunately, Tamplar has a little more intelligence then you give him credit for. Sources indicate he holds International Rescue responsible for the World Security Council commandeering his processing plants. He feels you're liable for the loss of a lot of his capital."

Scott refocused on the barrel of the gun. Safety on. "And you're telling me this because… You're not going to shoot me, and he didn't strike me as an equal opportunities kind of guy. So I'm guessing you're in some way related to the WSC." He paused to give her time to confirm or deny but she did neither. "What exactly do you want here?"

"I just want you to be aware," her tone remained neutral, not particularly aggressive or defensive. "There will be a third world war and Kasim Tamplar will be at the heart of it. We have reason to believe that he's planning to offer the secrets of International Rescue in exchange for asylum." She glanced around her surroundings, derision in her eyes, "We were hoping his offer was a little premature."

"And by 'we' you mean?"

"Interested parties."

"I see." Scott's mind was working overtime. "You must have reason to believe there's some truth in this?"

"Well, it would be favourable for him. He blames your organisation for his current position. If he managed to infiltrate your Security procedures," She stopped to look around scathingly, "if you can call them that. He can ruin International Rescue and assist Russia by using your technology to take control of Vorva. Not only would he have asylum there, it would be the most powerful country in the world." She looked directly at Scott to check he was taking all this in. "Two birds, one bullet."

"You think he's going to make a move to gain our technology?" Scott looked her up and down as if making a judgement call. There was more, he decided. "What else do you know?"

"I know every Intelligence Organisation in the world has some form of team dedicated to International Rescue. The Germans have made attempts before to discredit you by using the Urdman Gang. They would have had a second attempt but their operation was stopped by a joint task force intervention. I know if Kasim Tamplar wants to find you, he will use those Intelligence Organisations until he does exactly that. Our sources suggest he's already started targeting Spanish and French operatives seconded to teams dedicated to International Rescue. Four out of the six currently based in Southern France have been found dead. You shouldn't underestimate him." The woman looked around her and then indicated to the gun in her hands. "And, the fact that I'm standing here with a loaded gun to your head and no bullets in me, tells me your Security Protocols could do with an in-depth review." She let out a sigh of disbelief and rebuked: "You really are very lax."

Scott scoffed at her. "What makes you think you're safe?" he attempted to bluff.

"You have no intention to challenge me; your weight's equally distributed, legs relaxed. CCTV cameras are centred on the console, not on entry and exit points so I doubt anyone even knows I'm here. Your radio contact is an open net, so I'm perfectly aware that I've got a five minute window before anyone will realise you're not where you should be." She hesitated for effect. "Would you like me to go on?"

"Maybe I'm not challenging you because I'm not threatened."

"Unlikely. You're carrying a weapon but you didn't even attempt to draw it when I closed the door. Possibly because I'm a woman and you don't perceive me to be a threat, or possibly because you have no intention of shooting me," her eyes wrinkled again, "those aren't necessarily mutually exclusive concepts. Maybe you're tired, or maybe…" she drew her words out, "you're just a little slow."

Scott's eyes narrowed again and he flicked his vision away from her, allowing a scoff to escape his lips. "I'm not slow. Trust me, if I'd wanted to…"

"Five minute window. No time to argue. So be quick, why didn't you shoot me?"

Scott hesitated, affronted by her words and her attitude. "I… Gut feeling, I guess."

"Guesswork's not good enough. You need to be more proactive;" she warned seriously. "If I had been working for him, whatever my gender, you'd be dead and I'd be at the controls of this machine."

"Which you couldn't operate." Scott pointed out.

"But I've got all the time in the world to work it out; the doors open from the inside, I can have a team of scientists and engineers here within minutes and the only person in a position to stop me, just bled to death on the floor."

"You don't know there aren't an army of other operatives outside this door," Scott challenged.

"You've spoken to one throughout the whole rescue. What makes you think I'm not going to shoot him as soon as he opens the door?" She raised her weapon up and down, indicating Scott's uniform. "Lacking in body armour too so the balance of probabilities wouldn't be in your favour."

"Well, thanks for all that security advice." Scott replied sarcastically.

"You're most welcome," she shrugged, not at all phased by his facetiousness. "Move around," she waggled the gun until Scott was in her position and she was in his, close to the door. "We just want you to be vigilant; he is a threat to you and he will make a move. In the current climate, it's highly likely whatever course of action he takes, it will be imminent; you must be aware."

"So you're expecting me to trust what you say but you haven't even told me who you are."

She reached a hand to her pocket, retrieving a small item. "Let's just say we owe you a debt, and we're repaying it."

"Your accent's British, are you MI5?" Scott continued to guess when she offered no response, hoping she'd give something away, "MI6? CO 8?" She didn't even flinch. "What makes you think we don't have our own Intelligence Team?"

"Give Lady Penelope my regards."

"Even if I knew someone called Lady Penelope, to do that I'd need to know who you are," Scott allowed his lips to pull upwards, just a fraction, in the belief he'd outplayed her.

"I was part of one of those dedicated teams I spoke of earlier." She reached the hand with the gun to the push button that would open the doors and with the other, threw a small silver object in Scott's direction. "I'm the one who worked it out, Scott."

XxxxX

A slither of light under the closed door was the only indication of activity against the dark, still hangar housing Thunderbird 1. Virgil hesitated, drew in a deep breath and raised a hand to knock. He didn't wait for an answer.

At the sharp tap, Scott looked up from his desk in time to see Virgil entering the room, balancing two tumblers and a Whisky bottle as he closed the door behind him.

"Hey, what are you working on?"

Scott hastily hid the programme on the screen, leaving only the International Rescue insignia in the centre. "Nothing." The reply was too quick and he followed through with a shrug which wasn't nearly half as carefree as it should have been. "Nothing important; Dad's new radio protocol." He leaned back in his chair and attempted to change the subject. "Tin-Tin been given you lessons in accessorizing or is that for us to drink?"

Virgil let out a gruff laugh, as he placed both glasses on Scott's desk and carefully poured a generous amount of amber liquid in to each one. He pushed one along the desk in Scott's direction, before scooping up the other glass and depositing himself in a leather chair.

There were a few seconds of silence.

Scott pre-empted what was coming and made a move of diversion.

"You thought any more about what you're going to do?" He asked over the rim of his glass.

Virgil gulped a mouthful of Whisky, "I've thought about nothing else." He rubbed blearily at his eyes. "I'm dreading this meeting." He took another mouthful, savouring the burn.

"Have you made a decision?" Scott pressed.

"No," Virgil replied, his tone evidencing just how irritated he felt at that fact.

"Dad talked to John," Scott kept the conversation ticking over, successfully avoiding the true purpose of Virgil's visit.

"Yeah, John told me. He agreed he was a little hot under the collar." A smile began to spread across Virgil's face. "The Tracy Family Mafia!" he sniggered. "I think even John sees the funny side of that now." But then he sobered as he thought on, "Fact is he's got a point," he sighed. "However we proceed, the political and legal consequences of our actions could have a massive effect on us and the rest of the world. That's one hell of a responsibility."

Scott was nodding, agreeing with his brother one hundred and ten percent, "Dad's been talking to the World Security Council again today. They're reluctant to offer us any form of support." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Apparently, it's for our own protection; they have concerns that Russia would perceive us to be an ally of theirs, thereby basically making us targets for the Russians."

Virgil groaned, "That's a heap of crap."

"Made worse," Scott continued as if he hadn't even heard, "by the fact that Chevlock won't agree to any immunity for International Rescue. His attitude was, enter Russian air space and pretty much expect to get shot down."

There were a few moments of companionable silence as they both thought through their respective dilemmas.

"Which kind of surprises me," Scott thought aloud. "You'd think if he's making attempts to gain our technology he'd be encouraging us into Russia, not shooting us down."

He raised his glass to his lips and then stopped half way there, realising what he'd just said. God his brother was good.

His eyes flickered to Virgil, unsurprised to see a smile tugging at the corners of his brother's lips.

"You know you've got to let this go, Scott." Virgil gestured to the screen, predictively taking advantage of the opening he'd just created.

Scott examined his glass for a few minutes more. "Dad's radio protocol?" He played innocent, not yet prepared to surrender totally. "I don't think he'll see it that way, Virg."

Virgil was tired of the charade. "Knock it off, huh?" he leaned forward in his chair. "That radio protocol's already on Dad's desk."

Scott smiled, holding out a little longer, "You've seen it? What do you think?"

"I think that if you're not working on a report for Dad at this time of night, whatever you are working on must be pretty important." He raised his glass, one finger outstretched towards the screen. "What's behind the screensaver?"

For a moment Scott looked like he'd argue but then he slumped in his chair, finally defeated. "You know Dad had Brains and John working on that memory chip she threw at me?"

Virgil nodded but didn't interrupt.

"Well, Brains finally managed to decrypt the files on it. He traced them to a public library in Paris. As far as computer geek stuff goes, that's where they originated. He can't find anything hidden on the chip." Scott sighed, eyes lingering far too long on the whisky bottle still on his desk. "It's a dead end."

"Maybe you're over analysing this. Maybe it really is just a data chip with newspaper articles on." Virgil could see from his brother's expression that he didn't share that view. "Has Penelope managed to identify her? Did my sketch help?"

"Nope." Scott shook his head dejectedly. "Nothing. Not surprising really, considering most of her face was covered and the only CCTV stills we managed to pull were of the back of her head. I should've taken more notice of her face," he berated himself. "She was right there the whole time but there was nothing special about her, nothing remarkable." He heaved a sigh, "Except she did a damn good job of never giving us a clear shot of her face."

"Who do you think she's working for?"

"I have no idea," Scott scoffed. "Penelope confirmed several Intelligence Communities have teams dedicated specifically to us, but nothing we didn't know about already. She can't identify … the woman. Penny doesn't think she's working for British Intelligence but she can't rule it out."

"Hmm," Virgil sipped at his whisky. "Then I guess, maybe," he tried to stall, "you have to consider that …" he opted for Scott's imaginative title, "The Woman … was wrong."

"No," Scott was adamant. "There was something about her. She believed what she was saying and the files on that data chip correspond with what she said too. Kasim Tamplar is mighty unhappy with International Rescue."

"And the WSC and Interpol and the UN and just about any other law enforcement agency you'd care to name," Virgil butted in.

Scott carried on regardless, "He has means and motive to go after us. He's just waiting for his opportunity and this war is one prime opportunity for him." He brought his glass up to his lips again and then hesitated as a thought struck him, "Or maybe he's thinking up a way to create the opportunity."

"Scott, none of those things means that she's right," Virgil opened his arms, inviting debate. "Her theory is just one of a number of theories. Spies are being killed around the world."

"Who work on teams dedicated to us," Scott countered.

"Being a spy is a dangerous job; Penelope will tell you that. They do a lot more than investigate International Rescue, I'm sure there are plenty of other things, equally as likely that people would kill a spy for." Virgil shrugged. "You know the risks when you take the job."

"They were tortured."

"Did you listen to what I just said?" Virgil tried to laugh and shake off some of Scott's focus. "They were spies; it doesn't mean International Rescue is linked to it in any way."

"They were tortured for information, Virgil," Scott wasn't convinced. "Information about us, about International Rescue. It's too much of a coincidence that they were all working with teams dedicated to us."

"Okay, let's put this in to context here," Virgil sat back, whisky glass resting on one knee. "Four out six, that's what? Sixty six percent of French and Spanish Operatives have been tortured to death within the last month from a team dedicated to International Rescue. How many other spies have been killed within the last month? What percentages of those have been tortured?"

"I don't know." Scott admitted with reluctance.

"Are there any other common denominators between these four operatives? Have they worked together on an operation before?"

Again, Scott was reluctant, "I don't know."

"Okay," Virgil went on, "Have they ever …"

"I get the point, Virgil!" Scott snapped, interrupting his brother's trail of logic. He took in a deep breath and controlled himself. "But what she said makes sense. Besides, she knew my name. We have to identify her, if nothing else, she poses a security risk."

Virgil bit his lips together, giving himself time to formulate the correct response. "I said your name across the radio, she probably picked it up from there. I promise I will follow correct radio procedure in future." He attempted to alleviate that tension but it didn't work. "Scott," he said softly, "we have no other evidence that she knows anything about us."

"She knows about Penelope." Scott wasn't giving up. "And, she told me."

"Yeah, she also told you we'd be targeted by a madman and that hasn't happened yet has it?"

"Not yet."

"She said the risk was imminent. It's been ten days," Virgil was confident. "Gallium and Russia are on the verge of war, if Kasim Templar was going to make his move he'd have done it by now. He's still wasting away in a jail cell in Luxembourg awaiting trial." Virgil could see his words weren't having much effect. "We've tightened up security; Brains has installed the security updates on the Thunderbirds nearly eight weeks before we were scheduled to…"

"I know."

"We've got retina scanners, palm scanners, CCTV, emergency lock down codes…."

"I know."

"Automatic lock down of idle systems…"

"I said I know!" Scott let out a frustrated growl. "I just… I feel like we should be doing something else."

"Like what?" Virgil paused but only for seconds. "Scott, we're doing everything we can." He assured his brother. "Why can't you just let this go?"

"There's something about this, Virgil." Scott heaved a heavy sigh, and swivelled in his chair towards the screen. A flick of a key brought up Virgil's sketch of the woman he'd encountered. "My gut just won't stop churning."

XxxxX

"Scott?"

"Scott? Wake up."

A rough nudge to the shoulder, and he let out a groan. His tongue felt like it was double the size it should be and the taste in his mouth was vile. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation … hmm, he thought, maybe he'd had too much scotch last night and fallen asleep at his desk. Another groan as he started to stretch out his cramped muscles. In fact, now he remembered it, he was pretty sure his office chair wasn't this hard or dusty, or …. Humid.

"Scott? You okay?"

"Virgil?" Consciousness was returning slowly and he peeled his eyes open to reveal a dimly lit room with light brick walls and a dusty floor.

Training kicking in, Scott surveyed his surroundings, spying one door and one window, both with bars, and heavy duty locks. Not too much scotch then. Besides, he realised, the whisky he'd shared with Virgil had been three days ago now. "What the hell …. " he was cut off mid-sentence as a wave of nausea flowed over him. "Oh God…"

"You okay?" Virgil repeated.

"Yeah, yeah, I think so," Scott grimaced at his aching muscles. "You?" He tried to look towards Virgil, who was kneeling at his side and leaning over him. In what little light the window let in, Scott could see he balanced awkwardly as if he was manacled to the wall with one leg turned outwards at an odd angle. Belatedly, he realised he was in the same situation himself.

"Same. A little busted up but I'm okay." Virgil replied, slipping his legs from under him and slumping to the floor. "Beginning to wish I'd trusted your gut though…"


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

"I'm sorry, Father, there's no sign of them," John admitted reluctantly. "I've checked all radio frequencies; I've had satellite imagery of the scene, I…"he trailed off, at a total loss. "There's just nothing. Their remote beacons are active and I traced them to the danger zone but there are no heat signatures. I also hijacked Thunderbird Two's Ground Penetrating X-Ray scan, there's no evidence of them anywhere." It wasn't necessary to be specific. "It's like they disappeared in to thin air." John paused, unwilling to give his father entirely negative news. "Our nearest Agent, James Ross, is on the way to the scene and Security Forces in Oman are guarding the craft."

Jeff Tracy's brow furrowed in a frown, the craters in his forehead not dissimilar to the surface of the very moon he'd once walked on. "They can't just have disappeared." He looked to John. "Are the craft secure?"

"Yes, sir," John was pleased to offer some positive news. "Remote lock down procedures are working A-OK."

"This is ridiculous," Jeff growled out. "John…" He was interrupted as Gordon entered the room at a jog.

"Dad…." Gordon spied John's virtual presence, "Sorry, John," and turned back to his father. "Line 2; I think it's _The Woman…_ Scott's woman." He gulped. "She asked for you by name." Gordon grimaced as his father's expression darkened at the latest security breach.

"This is Jeff Tracy speaking," Jeff pressed the necessary buttons to put the call on loudspeaker.

"Mr Tracy," a confident British female voice replied. "I'm sure you're aware that two of your operatives have been involved in a situation in the Middle East."

"Who the hell are you?" Jeff Tracy was not a man to mess with, particularly when faced with two sons in an unknown amount of danger and several, possibly fatal breaches of security. He wasn't pulling any punches.

"Unfortunately, I can not disclose that information," came the reply. "I appreciate your position but I give you my word that I am friend, not foe. I am calling out of courtesy to inform you that I'm approximately an hour away from where your operatives are being held and intend to mount a rescue attempt. Please do not take any action at this time."

"And where exactly is that?" Jeff looked up with the intention of instructing John to trace the call but he halted when it became obvious that John already had the task in hand.

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that either," she replied, not at all phased by Jeff's hostile tone. "Give me one good reason why I should trust you."

"Firstly, I did attempt to warn you that would happen. And secondly, I'm confident I know the identities of most, if not all, of your core operatives and I haven't said a word."

"Is that supposed to convince me?"

"I don't need to convince you. You don't have a choice. I'd appreciate your cooperation but it's not essential; I'm closer, my Intelligence is better and more accurate. To put it in basic terms: I'll most probably have completed my mission by the time you can get another team on the ground. As I said, my call is a courtesy, not a request for compliance."

"And if your mission fails?" Jeff awaited an answer with a growing sense of anxiety.

"We'll most probably all die."

"You're prepared to risk the lives of my operatives for…"

"Forgive me for pointing this out, but you risked the lives of your operatives yourself when you disregarded my warning." She paused for breath and when she spoke again her tone had changed from demanding and authoritative, to disdainful. "John, I know you're there. Tracing this call is a waste of your time."

John's head came up sharply.

"Now, hold on a minute, I …" Jeff began.

"I'll be in touch," she spoke over him and the screen lit up with the words 'Call Ended'.

Jeff's head swung around to the feed from Thunderbird Five, his expectant expression barely concealing the rage he felt towards her.

"I'm sorry, Father," John was forced to admit. "She's right, I barely got a fix on the signal long enough to bounce it to enough satellites for a triangulation, I…"

"Plain English, John," Jeff snapped.

"I've got nothing," John confessed.

Jeff's eyes glowed with pure fury and his fist came thundering down on his desk. "Damn it!" He growled. "Who in the hell is this woman?"

X

The sun had set and risen again before anyone disturbed them. Scott and Virgil sat in companionable silence against a cool damp wall, neither truly sleeping but both finding their eyes closing of their own accord on occasion.

"You remember what happened?" Virgil asked, his voice gravelly through lack of use and dust exposure.

Scott looked across at his brother, who hadn't bothered to open his eyes, with a sense they'd already had this conversation. "No," he found himself replying. "Figured maybe we drank too much to start with but that was a good few days ago. I think the last thing I remember was Oman; I was walking back towards Two to talk to you about the clear up. You?"

"Same. I remember seeing you and walking towards you, but then…." Virgil attempted to clear his throat. "Can you taste …" he struggled to put a name to it.

"Melon," Scott provided. "Yeah, I think maybe they drugged us." He frowned again, remembering Virgil saying how he'd never eat melon again after this.

Virgil was rolling his tongue around his mouth and screwing his face up, "This has put me off melon for life."

Scott stared, "Virgil, did you hit your head?"

"Hmm?" Virgil was taken aback by the question. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

Scott shuffled closer to his brother. "Check my pupils."

Virgil slowly complied, opening his own eyes and peering into Scott's, "Equal and reactive; you're fine, Scott."

Without a request to do so, Scott returned the favour. "Must be whatever drug they used on us," he concluded.

Virgil had already come to the same conclusion. "Well, I guess your woman was right." He let his head rest against the wall again, his eyes slipping closed once more. "What now?"

"No weapons, no communicator, no boots …" Scott trailed off. "They even took my belt."

Virgil raised his shirt but didn't bother to open his eyes, "Mine too."

"There aren't any viable exits except through that door," Scott made no effort to hide the frustration in his tone. "I couldn't fit my head through that window even if we managed to lose the bars somehow, and the fact it's an outside wall doesn't really help us."

Virgil let out a sigh and opened his eyes with a renewed interest in the conversation as he moved his leg against the jangling chain at his ankle. "And we're not going anywhere like this." He took the padlock in his hand, not for the first time. "If only it were Tin-Tin I was stuck down here with."

Scott's brow furrowed and he looked at his brother, eyes quizzical and facial muscles tight with astonishment.

"Not like that!" Virgil exclaimed. "I was just thinking…" his eyes gestured to Scott's chest, "you know… something we could pick the lock with."

"Keep those thoughts to yourself." Scott retorted. Virgil was pleased to see the tension in his brother's shoulder relax, even if it was only for a few moments.

"Promise me you won't tell Alan I said that," Virgil groaned out, suddenly realising the potential. The request was an unnecessary distraction; Scott would never betray him to Alan.

"Shh," Scott whispered, any hint of joviality evaporated in a second as his head turned sharply towards the door. "I think someone's coming."

Virgil pulled his head off the wall and sat up a little straighter in time to see a thin, tall man enter the room dressed in loose camouflage fatigues. His dark hair was relatively short and the small beard he sported around his mouth was trimmed neatly. Behind him was a larger man, bald headed and muscular, dresssed in similar clothes but his khaki t-shirt clung tightly to his oversized biceps.

"Gentlemen," the thinner of the two opened his arms in greeting, his mouth forming the curve of a false smile. "Welcome." His accent was thick and although unidentifiable to Scott's untrained ears, he thought it was unlikely to be Russian. "My apologies that your accommodation is … how you say?" The thin man paused to consider for a moment. "Sparse." He took a step towards where Scott and Virgil remained seated on the ground, eyeing them. "It is similar to what I have become used to."

A muscle in Scott's jaw jumped but that was the only indication he'd made the connection as to who this man was.

"Forgive me," he continued. "We have not been introduced, My name is Kasim Tamplar," he bowed his head a little, in some kind of greeting. "I am the man you robbed of several thousand teppa." He rubbed his finger and thumb in a well-recognised symbol of money. "And, I am the man," Kasim placed his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels, a smirk of glee lighting up his eyes, "to which you will tell the secrets of International Rescue."

Scott snorted, "You think we're going to tell you anything?"

Kasim's smirk widened even further, "Not willingly," he shrugged, "But where is the fun in that?"

"We're just pilots," Scott replied, hoping his voice was level. "We don't know the kind of information you want."

"Hmm…" Kasim moved to stand in front of Virgil, still studying him. Scott scrutinised his every movement, trying to deduce what he was thinking and he had a sinking feeling what was coming next.

After a few moments of contemplative silence Kasim moved away to stand alongside the unidentified male in the room. "This one is the dominant one," he pointed to Scott and narrowed his eyes when Scott met his gaze. "Aban, you will make sure this one," he pointed to Virgil, "is interrogated first."

'Aban' nodded his compliance but did not move or speak.

Scott took in a breath, given the conversations he and Virgil had been having prior to this incident, he hoped his next words would not cause more damage than they'd prevent. "He's just a pilot, he doesn't know anything."

Kasim turned to him and gave him the same predatory look he'd given Virgil. "And you? You do?"

Scott nodded once, trying to appear unwilling yet a little relieved that Kasim was playing into his hands. He'd do anything to spare Virgil the experience of torture. "I'm the Field Commander."

"I can see that," Kasim sneered. "I can see that you wish to protect him. An admirable quality in any leader," he agreed. "But there are many ways to torture people, Commander," he patronised, "not just the physical kind." Scott's heart skipped a beat and any hopes of controlling this situation were dashed as Kasim turned back to Aban. "Make sure you do not take him too far away, I want this one," he gestured to Scott, "to hear his screams."

Once again, Aban nodded but gave nothing else away.

"I want to know as soon as the Colonel arrives," Kasim told Aban as they both turned to exit the cell. "You have done well Aban, these are most pleasing assets, you will be rewarded…" their conversation tailed off as the door was shut and bolted again.

Scott looked to Virgil, noting that his brothers' complexion appeared a shade whiter.

X

Total silence was not a stranger to the Tracy Villa Lounge, particularly during any tense rescue operation. This kind of total silence however, was unnerving. It hung heavily in the room, overbearing for its occupants.

The bleeping of an incoming call was a welcome interruption.

No-one quite hid the disappointment however, that it was not Scott's or Virgil's portraits flashing the incoming signal, but Penelope's.

"Go ahead, England," Jeff's deep tone rumbled across the airwaves, carrying every bit of tension the air held. "Penny," he greeted once her real time image appeared, "tell me you have some kind of news." It wasn't a request so much as an order from the very depths of his shattering heart.

"I do, Jeff," The blonde aristocrat nodded ever so slightly, "but I'm afraid it's rather convoluted."

"Go on," Jeff encouraged, aware that she'd got the attention of the whole family.

"I'm sorry I couldn't take your call earlier, I was otherwise engaged in a rather interesting conversation with a contact at Thames House." Her image rose and fell slightly in the frame of the picture, signifying the fact they were travelling at speed.

"British Secret Service Headquarters," Tin-Tin whispered.

"It would appear that Kasim Tamplar has walked out of a high security prison in Luxembourg and is now unlawfully at large," Penelope's voice hardly matched the gravitas of that statement. "The information is not in the public domain yet but I'm afraid I must report that his current whereabouts is unknown."

" _Walked out_?" Jeff's boomed as the other occupants of Tracy Island looked at one another in astonishment. "What exactly do you mean _walked out_ , Penelope?"

"It was a highly sophisticated operation," Penelope expanded. "The details are sketchy at best but it would appear that Tamplar was due to attend some form of pre-trial hearing at the International Criminal Court. The transport was ambushed in a very well executed manoeuvre by a small group of unidentified armed men. Tamplar has always previously used mercenaries as his muscle, so to speak. His inner circle is insignificant and certainly not capable of organising this kind of advanced approach. In my experience the kind of synchronicity necessary to be successful in an operation like this, is not attained by mercenaries who are used to working alone." She paused to let that sentence sink in. "In fact, I would hazard a guess that whoever was responsible for assisting Mr Tamplar's escape was very well versed in such tactics," she added.

"The woman said he'd offered our secrets to the Russians for asylum," Gordon remembered. "Is it possible they could be behind this, Penny?"

"With the level of expertise required to execute an operation like that, and as flawlessly as it was carried out too," Penelope nodded. She glanced purposely at Jeff but was unprepared to commit. "It's a possibility. I must admit though, the Russians are renowned for their… crude approach," she tried to be tactful. "This was almost too smooth, even for them."

"Wow," John let out a deep breath. "So much for International Rescue being an a political organisation."

"Speaking of politics," Penelope continued, ready to deliver her next blow. "I've been in touch with a few contacts and Thames House seems to believe there's rumour that the World Security Council were complicit in Tamplar's escape."

"Complicit?" Jeff was aghast. "What exactly are you saying Penelope?"

"Well there's nothing concrete, or confirmed which I find suspicious in itself," another meaningful glance shot in Jeff's direction. "I must stress this is only a rumour. None of my WSC sources have been in contact therefore I have nothing to corroborate any of this. Apparently," Penelope was jolted as FAB1 hit something and she reached for the front seat to steady herself. In the back ground, Parker could be heard mumbling his apologies. "Apparently," she repeated, "there are rumours that the WSC were aware of the plans to ambush the vehicle, but chose not to intervene. Allegedly, they have an operative under deep cover and they believe Kasim Tamplar would be more productive as an Intelligence Asset."

Jeff's expression darkened like the gloomy daylight just before a thunderstorm, "You mean to tell me that they knew this was going to happen and they did nothing?" The pitch of his voice was rising. "They think he'd be safer running around the world taking my sons hostage than in a prison cell?"

"There's nothing to connect Tamplar to Virgil and Scott's disappearance as yet, Jeff," Penelope vocalised, calm as ever. "I agree it's highly probable and I'd bet at least one of my Caribbean holiday homes that he's behind it, but for now, the evidence is all circumstantial."

"Penny's right, Father," Gordon added, reluctance in his tone but he hoped his influence was a calming one. The last thing they needed now was their father having a coronary too. "We only know they're involved in a situation from the woman, and we don't even know that's true."

"Everything she said is turning out to be right so far," Alan reasoned. Tin-Tin nodded in agreement, but was distracted by a ping from the lab on her hand held computer system.

"Am I to presume your contact with your ex-colleagues in the Air Force were not fruitful?" Penelope had worked alongside Jeff Tracy for long enough to recognise 'The Look'. "I see." She didn't press him any further.

"It would appear the American President already has contingency plans in place for this kind of situation," Jeff insisted, determined to expand despite Penelope's apparent satisfaction that there were no further avenues to explore. "The majority of the civilised world has signed a Treaty basically putting an embargo on any action they might take independent of the World Security Council."

Penelope's perfectly trimmed eyebrows narrowed, "Surely each Head of State then would lose absolute authority over their own counties and be reliant on the WSC for direction."

Jeff heaved a sigh, "Apparently, there's some legal loop-hole that allows them to 'interpret' this in correspondence with their own legal systems but essentially, in practice, it's an embargo on independent action to ensure that the world acts as one." He shrugged. "I can see the logic behind it, even if I don't agree on this occasion."

"So that brings us back to the WSC," John pointed out. "And being totally reliant on them."

"Penelope, what are the chances of the WSC's 'deep cover operative' and the woman being one and the same?" Jeff was doing his best to piece together what few parts of the jigsaw they had.

"I've already left messages for my contacts at the WSC to get in touch, but no-one's got back to me yet," Penelope replied. "I'm trying to get a few more details about their agent; we may be able to identify her from that." She raised a large, bound file and placed it in her lap, visible to the feed. "This is Tamplar's Security File held at Thames House," she said as if its very presence was a great achievement. "I couldn't get an electronic copy. Any kind of electronic trail would have compromised my source so I'm afraid I'm doing it the old fashioned way. I intend to get a little light reading in en route to Oman."

Jeff was about to vocalise his agreement when Tin-Tin drew his attention.

"Mr Tracy," she called out. Her eyes didn't move from the screen in front of her but were sweeping from left to right, reading the contents as quickly as possible. "Brains is in the lab doing some background research on Tamplar. He's just sent me some reports from the initial investigation into the death of Sergei Vladisgov. The bullet that killed him was a …" she paused to read the exact phrase, "Titanium Ithanol Turning Round. These were tested eighteen months ago in Germany and declared unlawful for use due to them being inhumane. It says here," she used a polished finger to find the exact place on the screen, "As they enter the body, the cap of the bullet is removed to reveal a twisted frame with spring bound harpoon-like attachments." Tin-Tin looked around the rooms occupants, her face morphed in disgust. "They look like a drill bit with razor blades attached."

"I recall that," Penelope was flicking through the file in front of her, hustling pages to get to something in particular. "Two hundred thousand were produced with only one hundred thousand being tested but I thought the World Security Council were responsible for overseeing that procedure. The bullets were so destructive they called an end to the testing."

"That's right," Tin-Tin picked the thread up. "The other hundred thousand remaining were supposed to have been destroyed."

"Wasn't Arms dealing one of Tamplar's charges?" Jeff frowned.

"Yes," Penelope nodded, still searching through the paperwork. "Here," she mirrored Tin-Tin's actions a few moments earlier, reading rapidly. "A well-known Swiss Arms Dealer was found in possession of some twenty thousand rounds when entering Lithuania. He told authorities they'd been sold to him by Tamplar." Penelope silently skimmed the rest of the report. "He committed suicide under suspicious circumstances whilst he was awaiting trial. His cell mate was an associate of Tamplar."

"This keeps getting better and better," John's tone expressed both his disgust and his rising anxiety. "And we think this guy's got Scott and Virgil, what? Hostage? So should we be expecting some kind of demand?"

"Oh, my," Tin-Tin raised a hand to her mouth. "It says here that the spies killed in France and Spain were all tortured to death, some of these…" she trailed off, clearly distressed by what she was reading.

Gordon leaned over and removed the computer from her grasp without resistance. "Evidence of asphyxiation through water boarding, electrocution, targeted bone breaking," he scrolled through, "removal of eyes and fingernails, genital mutilation, evidence of sexual violence …."

Tin-Tin left the room.

Alan watched her go and looked to his father, grateful when he nodded his assent to Alan following.

Gordon briefly paused, realising the upset. Although he knew Penelope was made of tough stuff, he felt duty bound to apologise, "Sorry, Penny, I probably shouldn't have read that aloud."

"Nothing I haven't heard or seen already, Gordon," Penelope replied sadly. "No need to apologise."

Jeff's head hung. He knew he shouldn't dwell on those words. He knew he couldn't dwell on them. But they rattled around in his head like someone had shot several ping pong balls into an enclosed space at high velocity.

Composing himself, he took control.

"Penelope, can you follow up with your sources? I want to know who this woman is and whether she's the operative the WSC have under cover." He saw Penelope open her mouth to intervene. "Allegedly have under cover," he corrected himself, offering her some assurance that he understood her suspicions. "Gordon, ready Tracy One for flight. I want Tin-Tin to fly you over to Tehbna,. You can parachute in without her having to land. Take Alan with you." He could see John had something to say and quickly added, "At least we'll have someone on the ground then and you might be able to find something out about what happened down there."

"Father," John spoke up. "The woman advised us not do anything, that her operation would be over by the time we landed."

"Yes she did," Jeff replied, forced patience in every line of his face. "I've got no evidence what her motives are and, yes I know she tried to warn us, but for all I know her involvement could be part of their plan. She also admitted to me that if she failed, Scott and Virgil would die with her. I'm not content to just sit back and let that happen." He paused for a mere second. "John, get on to the authorities in Tehbna and tell them we appreciate them guarding the craft but that we'll have personnel on the ground to take over within twenty four hours." John nodded his head. "Keep alert. Someone somewhere must know something. And…" he hesitated, "and there may be demands of some kind."

"Yes, sir," John replied. "Thunderbird Five, out."

Gordon rose from his seat, "I'll find the others," he offered as he left the room.

As the occupants all filtered away, Jeff continued to keep the feed open with FAB1.

"I don't like this, Jeff," Penelope commented only when they were alone. "I cannot believe the WSC would put the integrity or good relations they've taken years to build, at risk like this. Especially, based on the word of a man like Kasim Tamplar."

"I agree with you, Penny," Jeff's tone spoke of his sadness. "And I hate to say this, but we don't live in a world where integrity and good relations count for much, anymore."

"Jeff," Penelope pressed her point. "In my little pink book, I have several Gatekeepers, each of which run tens of sources in multiple countries and all of them, bar one, know nothing about this," her blond hair shook in time with her head. "I am concerned there is much more to this than meets the eye. If only the WSC would get back to me…." She trailed off, letting out a ladylike sigh. When she looked up at Jeff again, she caught his eyes and hoped to convey some sincerity, "I understand this is an emotive operation for you, Jeff, but as your friend and your most trusted advisor, I would counsel caution."

Jeff heaved a heavy sigh of his own and sat back in his chair, "I appreciate what you're saying, Penelope, but we're not talking about some unquantified, unknown prisoner of war here. They're not soldiers, they're not just American citizens, they're my sons."

As he looked directly at her, Penelope could see just how much this situation was already taking its toll. "Oh, Jeff, I do wish I could be there to support you in person, but you understand I can be of more use here."

"Of course," Jeff agreed. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Penelope noted his slumped shoulders and the way he removed his spectacles and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Try not to worry, Scott is a very resourceful young man and Virgil is one of the strongest I know."

"Gordon wanted to double crew," Jeff admitted, reminding himself that a good man acknowledges a bad decision.

"Jeff," Penelope adopted a soft tone which she hoped was reassuring but equally as firm. "As you and I both know, you haven't the resources to double crew all the time. Gordon was still exhausted from the Mid Atlantic Ridge Rescue yesterday, and Alan and Tin-Tin were still the wrong side of the stratosphere from a supply run to Thunderbird Five."

"Virgil wanted to just take Two to the danger zone," Jeff continued to explain. "If we'd done that at least we'd have been able to take One to the scene now. It's going to take hours before we can even get another team on the ground."

"And, on arrival, didn't Scott fire a wall of steel prongs to prevent a rock fall?" Penelope pointed out, distracted as her mobile telephone began to play a tune. "I would think that saved many lives prior to Thunderbird Two even arriving on the scene."

Jeff nodded his head. "You're right, Penny, I just…" he trailed off, bone weary of analysing the impact of this war.

"There are no answers, Jeff," Penelope replied. "No right or wrong, only an opinion on what is." She picked up the telephone. "I'm so sorry, but I really must take this. It might be pertinent."

"Of course, Penny," Jeff agreed. "Keep me informed."

"Will do," Penelope hurried to reply. "England, out."

Jeff Tracy found himself alone in the Tracy Island Villa.

Total silence descended once more. Times like this, he really missed his mother.

XxxxX

Scott gritted his teeth at the continuous strum of Virgil's fingers against his thigh. Despite his purposeful glares at the offending and monotonous movement, and even an aggravated sigh, Virgil was clearly too deep in thought to pick up on the hints.

Finally, Scott could stand it no longer. "You okay?"

He thought his voice was soft but against the stark silence, bar Virgil's drumming, and the unfurnished walls, he actually sounded quite loud.

And irritated.

Virgil jumped at the sudden noise, eyes flicking to the door, startled. "Me?" he replied. Scott didn't answer, although he felt like offering up a sarcastic response about who else he could have been addressing. "I'm fine," Virgil tried to sound his usual calm, rational self. He knew he'd failed; he sounded anxious and defensive but in the face of Scott's tone he had no intention of apologising for that. "You?" he queried.

"I'm fine," Scott clarified. "Sweaty and hungry, just like you," he admitted. "But I'm not the one giving myself repetitive strain injury," he inclined his head towards where Virgil's fingers were continuing their merry jig.

Virgil followed his gaze, realising what he was doing. "Sorry, Scott," he apologised and made an effort to stop himself by moving his hands to under his thighs.

"Come on, Virgil, what's the matter with you?" Scott encouraged. "You're the poster boy for rock-solid, remember?"

Virgil scoffed at the description. "John was right," he turned to look at Scott. "This isn't what I signed up for. We're supposed to be a rescue organisation, not a militia."

"We talked about this," Scott replied.

"Yeah, and this kind of validates my point." Virgil shook his head. "I'm not a solider, Scott."

"You're stronger than a lot of the soldiers I know," Scott told him sternly, "Physically and mentally."

Virgil grimaced. "It's a different kind of strength. Sure… tell me to channel under a collapsing building and I'm fine with that, or to drive a truck while a crashing plane tries to land on the roof…. I'm good. But this? This is exactly what I've been dreading." He took in a deep breath, allowing his chest to expand as far as it would go before letting the air out slowly in an effort to sooth his agitation.

"I know," Scott acknowledged softly. "But it's all about what's going on up here," he tapped his temple. "Positive mental attitude: whether you think you can or you think you can't. You're right." He could see Virgil wasn't convinced. "It's all about confidence. Rescue victims rely on you to be strong and pretend to know what you're doing even if you don't and that's exactly what you need to do in there. All you have to do is pretend." Scott wasn't sure if his words were having an effect.

"Yeah," Virgil tried to compose himself. "We've been in situations a hell of a lot worse than this and come out of them." He looked to Scott, seeking reassurance: "Right?"

"Right," Scott agreed without hesitation. "Good man."

A few moments passed but Scott purposely didn't speak. He could see there was more to come and so he gave Virgil the time to build up momentum.

"What if I tell them something?" Virgil finally vocalised the thoughts he'd been stewing on.

"You won't," Scott replied confident as ever.

"What if I do?" Virgil persisted. "What if I'm the one to spill the secrets of International Rescue to one of the biggest Terrorists out there?"

"Come on, Virgil," Scott tried to stay calm; he couldn't think of a time in their adult lives when Virgil had ever appeared to be this negative. It was unsettling. Maybe he'd underestimated the strength of his brother's feelings on the subject of war. "You can handle this."

"I can." It was more a question than a statement.

"Yes." Scott replied firmly. "You can. You're the guy that tunnels under burning buildings and drives elevator cars underneath landing planes. You were right there at the front of the queue when they handed out nerves of steel. If you weren't so damned good, I'd fire you for the way you scare the hell out of me sometimes," Scott tried to jest and appear relaxed on the outside but he could feel his own anxieties surfacing at how this conversation was progressing. He tempered himself down. "Just remember what Penelope told you, focus…"

"…on a spot on the wall and let my mind drift," Virgil finished for him. "I know, but what if I lose focus?"

"Let your mind go anywhere you want," Scott suggested. "Paint a picture or imagine yourself composing a tune." He ran a hand over his face and Virgil suddenly had a very clear picture of the stress his older brother was under. "We don't have time to worry about this right now," he met his brother's eyes. "You're stronger than this." He took in a deep breath. "Look, it's just like a rescue. How many times have we worked against the odds? Come out on top through sheer determination? Purely because we believed that we could. Huh? I need you to do that now. Okay?"

"Okay, Scott," Virgil sounded his usual calm self and was nodding. Realisation came that it was perhaps a little selfish to lay all this at Scott's door. He tried to take the positives and reassure himself that surviving the next few hours was even possible.

"I wish they'd damned well get on with it."

"That's the idea," Scott knew he didn't need to explain this his brother, a man of excellent intellect, but it filled the silence and there was a part of him that worried Virgil wasn't exactly thinking straight. "It's all a game to them, this is a tactic. Anticipating what's going to happen, letting it get to you," he looked across at Virgil directly. "This is what they want."

"Of course it is," Virgil agreed. He knew that. "Have you ever noticed that Penelope has perfect teeth?"

Scott frowned at the abstract sentence. "What?"

Virgil knew he'd heard. "She's a got a filling, right here," he raised a hand towards the back of his jaw on the right. "I noticed it after Anderbad." Scott suddenly had a sinking feeling where this was going. "She told me it wasn't a filling at all, it was a synthetic tooth filled with cyanide. Apparently, she'd discussed us having them when International Rescue started but Dad vetoed the idea, he thought it was overkill."

Scott listened, surprised that he hadn't been made aware of this during International Rescue's conception. He wondered what else Penelope had discussed with their father without him.

"I'm kind of thinking right now," Virgil continued, oblivious to Scott's apprehensive stare. "I'd be biting down pretty hard if I had a cyanide filled tooth." He heaved a heavy sigh, part exhaustion and part tension, "I'd rather die than spill International Rescue's guts.

"Don't …. " Scott offered some rational thought with a shrug. "Realistically, whatever happens in there, it doesn't matter." Virgil looked up at him questioning that statement with his eyes. "The woman has proved that information about International Rescue is already in the public domain. It's only a matter of time now. It's not worth dying over when the writing's already on the wall."

"We don't know that," Virgil qualified. "The woman might know but that doesn't mean she's told anyone. You were right; we should have listened to her."

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "We should have."

They were both so involved in the conversation that the door opening took them both by surprise. Kasim Templar walked in, closely followed by Aban and then another figure. Dressed in khaki fatigues like the others, but this one was different, more rounded and feminine. Sure enough, underneath the flat cap dark brunette wisps of hair were fanning out.

Virgil's attention was immediately drawn to her chocolate eyes; there was something familiar about them.

"Gentlemen," Kasim greeted them as if they were joining him at a dinner party. "Allow me to introduce the Colonel, the best interrogator I have ever had the pleasure to do business with." He eyed her in admiration that was not of the professional kind. "And I do like to mix pleasure with business," he leered.

Scott let out a short burst of patronising laughter as he got to his feet. He saw from the corner of his eye that Virgil, who remained seated, was looking at him as if he was insane. "A woman?" he grinned. "Your interrogator is a woman?"

It had the desired effect and hit a nerve for Kasim, who responded aggressively, "Do not underestimate her. It was nearly my downfall three years ago," he growled out, a finger raised at Scott, his lips pulling in to a sneer. "But I turned her to my advantage." He realised how his façade of control had slipped and like the flicking of a switch, his temper was pushed back.

Scott glared at him but said nothing, satisfied that he could relight he ignition if necessary. Kasim turned to the Colonel, finished with the conversation.

"You will take this one first," he pointed to Virgil. "This one," he raised a hand towards Scott, "attempts to distract me from him."

The Colonel inclined her head in a gesture of compliance.

"Aban will ensure my men available to you in any way you require," Kasim told her as he turned to leave. "Aban!" he nodded sharply towards the Colonel and Aban stepped closer to Virgil.

"That won't be necessary."

The accent was crisp. British. Like Penelope's.

"I would like to conduct a pre-interrogation study before we commence."

Scott's eyes rotated in their sockets towards her, widening as he reconciled what his eyes and his ears were telling him. Recognition was causing the proverbial bell not just to ring but pound out loud and clear.

Virgil was, as usual, on the same wavelength.

"Is that…" his murmur trailed off, as the other men exited the room, leaving only Scott, Virgil and the woman.

"Yes," Scott's whisper came back, more from disbelief than a need to be particularly quiet.

The door to the cell closed and the woman turned to face them both, her expression darkening with what could easily have been anger or exasperation, or maybe even both.

"Are you deaf?" She hissed out as she strode towards them, aiming her words at Scott. "Or just down-right bloody stupid?"


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

Scott could probably list the few times in his life when he'd been truly speechless, but watching the Colonel stride towards him, accusing him of stupidity, was one he'd have to add to the list.

"You're an Interrogator?" Scott's voice came out an octave higher than normal as he fired the accusation out. He cleared his throat. "You're an interrogator and you're working for _him_?"

"It's a shame your powers of observation weren't so accurate last week!" she hissed back as she stepped towards Virgil. Her arm raised in a gesture that was ordering him to his feet. Virgil slowly complied.

"Wait! What are you doing?"

The Colonel hesitated.

Somewhere inside Scott, her presence had sparked a hope that she could offer them some protection. Her attitude, however, was effectively extinguishing any of that.

"I know this is an alien concept to you," the Colonel replied, removing a zip tie from her pocket to secure Virgil's hands behind his back, "but I'm following instruction." She reached down to Virgil's ankle and freed him from the restraint of the chain. "You should try it some time."

Virgil felt a shove to the middle of his back and stumbled forward a few paces.

"Guards!" The Colonel shouted out. "Interrogation Room," she ordered, when two men appeared.

Virgil found himself pulled by his elbows towards the door. Scott believed that he could handle this, he reminded himself, risking one last glance towards his brother.

As they made eye contact, Scott felt as though his heart was shrivelling up inside his chest. It was the same look in Virgil's eyes, the same feeling deep in his chest and the same helpless frustration he'd felt all those years ago in the wake of his mother's death. He was just so damned powerless to stop this.

The guards roughly pulled a hessian bag over Virgil's head and he was manhandled out the door. Scott reached out to the Colonel's arm before she moved away. It was more instinct than reason prompting him in to action but he clutched her forearm, nonetheless. Deep down, the rational part of him knew not to engage with his tormentors; that to do so was to provide her with ammunition to use against him at a later date. In reality though, it was perhaps a little ambitious to think a two week training course would override a sentiment that had ruled his entire life; to protect his brothers. Virgil was no different.

The Colonel looked down at his grip on her arm, probably firmer than necessary, and then straight in to his eyes, angered.

"Let go," she ordered, glaring towards the door pointedly. The Guards had gone ahead with Virgil and they were alone but the warning stood nevertheless.

Scott made no effort to obey, if anything tightening his grasp. "He's had no formal preparation for what's going to happen in there," he said.

They both knew he was pleading without saying the words.

"Maybe that's something you should have considered when you completed your Security Review," she rumbled, yanking her arm free and heading for the door.

"Colonel!" Scott called out. She stopped but didn't turn back towards him. "He's got no military history."

"Are you asking me to go easy on him?"

"Hurt him, and I won't tell you anything,"

She laughed in an act of exasperation, head thrown back.

"You really don't get it do you?" She finally turned to face him and dropped her voice to a whisper, "Four years at Denver studying Engineering, including a placement year, graduating at the top of his class, a further three years working for De-Mark Engineering in Denver, winning three prizes during his time there for performance and innovation. Then a period of 18 months working for your father before International Rescue went live," she reeled off Virgil's CV as if she'd written it. "I know all about Virgil Tracy, I know about all of it."

Scott felt his insides twinge; frightened at how well versed she was in their history.

"Then why are you doing this?"

Her reply came as she stalked to the door.

"Mine is not to reason why, mine is but to do or die."

XxxX

Brains busied himself with making coffee as Alan made a valiant attempt to comfort Tin-Tin. The young Engineer had never been more relieved in his life when, having offered Tin-Tin his handkerchief Alan had entered the Lab at a jog. Right about the time he realised he wasn't sure what to say.

"Don't cry, Tin-Tin," Alan was running a hand along her back. "Scott and Virgil will be fine." Brains wished he could believe that but he knew, just like Alan knew, they were words. Just meaningless words.

"Oh, Alan," Tin-Tin's eyes were red but she no longer cried. "The things those people were subjected to. That _Scott_ and _Virgil_ could be subjected to."

"We don't know that there's a connection between Scott and Virgil's disappearance and those people's deaths," Alan replied. "We don't even know that Kasim Templar is connected to this in any way."

Brains raised an eyebrow to himself, wisely keeping his own council on that theory.

"We do, Alan," Tin-Tin nodded. "We know in our hearts."

Alan didn't seem to have a reply for that one and just wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her head in to the crook of his shoulder.

Brains chose that moment to come over, handing them a mug of the coffee in turn.

Alan nodded his thanks and their eyes met, exchanging their own silent thoughts.

"Per-Perhaps doing err some-something more err, pro-proactive would help?" Brains indicated the desk where three computer screens were simultaneously undertaking various tasks.

"Yes," Tin-Tin nodded, moving away from Alan's hold. "Of course, Brains," she swallowed hard and tried to compose herself. "What can we do?"

"I'm err… re-reviewing CCTV footage from th-the Thunderbirds err … re-remotely," Brains replied, as Tin-Tin came to stand at his shoulder. "So far, there err d-doesn't appear to err b-be anything to err g-go on but there's a bl-blind sp-spot here." He indicated towards one of the screens.

"I'll pull satellite imagery of the area from Thunderbird Five." Tin-Tin sat down alongside him, abandoned her mug and began tapping. "Do you have the exact co-ordinates of the craft?"

"H.. Here," Brains slid a piece of paper across the desk towards her, his eyes not leaving the screen.

Alan didn't have the heart to tell them that John had already done all this. Besides there was always a chance, small as it might be, that John had missed something. It was worth a second look.

The doors swished open and Gordon appeared. He looked across to Tin-Tin and offered her a sad smile. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded but it was hesitant. "We must concentrate on finding Scott and Virgil."

"Good," Gordon could see it was a façade but they didn't have time right now for tears. "Dad wants you to take Tracy One to Tehbna, Alan and I are going to parachute in a few clicks East and then hike up to the Danger Zone. We can take control of the Thunderbirds with minimal possibility of the Tracy name being associated."

He glanced at Alan to check his brother was listening.

Tin-Tin looked to Alan too, and for a second she appeared upset at the thought, but it passed. "Then, I will ready Tracy One for flight." She bustled past Gordon towards the door.

"She really okay?" Gordon asked. Brains kept his head down; he'd already conveyed his sentiments to Alan.

Alan heaved a sigh, "No. Are any of us?" He paused for a second. "You think we can trust this woman?"

Gordon shrugged, "I don't see we have much choice. We have no idea what's happened to them and we have no idea where they are." He raised his hands, palm up. "We have to hope we can trust her, because if you take her out of the equation right now…"

He looked directly at his brother.

"…we're pretty screwed, Al."

"Ahh…" Brains suddenly spoke up, "This is ahhh o-odd."

XxxX

The bag covering Virgil's head smelled musty and stale. The air was uncomfortably humid, dry and hot. The hood was designed to be desensitising; he knew that. He remembered being told the tactics during his training sessions but it was one thing listening to Penelope's soft tones explaining these things and something completely different to experience it. As oxygen took longer to filter in through the hessian material, he felt increasingly claustrophobic. Virgil was perfectly aware the material on his head had probably been on a number of other heads too; the smells of their sweat and irony blood, all mingled together with the sweat that trickled down his own brow now. Penelope hadn't mentioned that.

He tried not to think about what how his predecessors had faired.

Forcefully he was turned 180 degrees and the zip tie was cut with such little effort it left him in no doubt as to the efficiency of the blade. Then, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Sit."

A male, foreign voice hissed in to his ear. An instruction, offered in the same way a man would command a dog.

Gingerly, Virgil lowered himself, unsure what exactly he was sitting on. At the point of overbalancing, the hand on his shoulder pushed him down into a chair and he felt his wrists and ankles being secured with straps, possibly leather.

Between the 180 degree turn, the hood and the fact he couldn't move, he was truly disorientated. He thought back to Scott's advice and tried to remember what else Penelope had told him in the brief session they'd had when International Recue was starting up. He began re-ordering his paint store in his head, a task he was half way through when the hood was removed in a flurry and without warning.

Wincing against the bright white ceiling lights illuminating the room, he waited for his vision to adjust.

As his eyes corrected themselves, Virgil turned his attention to his surroundings. The room wasn't particularly large and he was indeed sat in a wooden chair, leather straps securing him to its frame. The only other piece of furniture was a plastic chair directly opposite him.

The Colonel walked around from behind him, her hips swaying in a casual, confident manner.

"You're an Engineer, Virgil." The opening sentence was unexpected and Virgil watched her warily. "I know John's technically the electronics expert," she continued, "But I'm sure you've had a few shocks in your time."

Virgil's eyes followed hers directly to his left and he realised that alongside him was a large battery, several wires snaking away from it. He'd had a few shocks in his time, alright; none of them pleasant experiences. The difference here was the anticipation. He tended to avoid electric shocks if he could foresee them coming.

She picked up the first electrode and attached it to a small clear pad, not dissimilar to the kind of contraption Brains used regularly during their physicals. He felt himself tense as she attached one at his left temple, then one at his right, and then systematically in the creases of his elbows and knees, the soles of his feet and the backs of his hands. He was sure she noted how taut his muscles were, his whole body rigid in anticipation despite his attempts to school himself to relax.

Her next move surprised him, when she slipped a cover over the third finger of his left hand and connected the wire to a monitor.

The sound of his own heartbeat could be heard, regular but far too fast to be considered normal.

"Virgil," she tutted as her eyes scanned the information on the screen. "Try to relax," she patronised. "This process will leave very few lasting marks but if you don't calm down, the current could permanently damage your heart muscles leading to ventricular fibrillation." A pause to give him time to digest this and respond had little effect. No amount of warnings would calm Virgil's pounding heart and the monitor continued to bleep at a relatively fast rate. "I'm sure given your career you know what's most likely to follows a heart rhythm of V-Fib…"

She trailed off as she flicked a switch to silence the machine, her eyes still studying whatever it was telling her.

Virgil felt like screaming at her. How could he possibly relax when he knew what was to be inflicted on him? He bit down on his lips in an effort not to make a noise and tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. Slow. Controlled. Just like Penelope had told him. Without the constant bleep, he could no longer gauge if it had an actual effect on his heart rate. It certainly didn't feel like it.

"Electric Shock is actually one of the easiest methods of Interrogation to withstand." The Colonel said suddenly. Virgil wasn't sure if that was meant to reassure him and if it was what, what exactly her motives were; was she warning him what to expect? Or was she using anticipation to heighten his apprehension? "Over 65% fail to extract any meaningful information." She was methodical in her work, checking the electrodes she'd already placed. "Maximum productivity comes from attaching electrodes to areas of the body most susceptible to hypersensitivity."

Virgil counted four left and realised he was running out of sensitive areas to put them without getting personal. If his breathing exercises had done any good at all, he was sure it was all undone as that thought crossed his mind.

The Colonel made quick work of pushing down the collar on his shirt, gaining easy access to his torso and attaching two more electrodes. As her fingers brushed against his skin, Virgil tensed, hands balling in to fists as he pushed back against both his restraints. The Colonel paused and seemed to take a moment to study his discomfort as if she was surprised by his reaction and it was prompting her to consider how to proceed.

She picked up the remaining two electrodes, a thoughtful expression flickering across her features as she placed them on the chair between his legs.

"I'll leave it to you imagination where these usually go," she tormented.

Virgil squirmed.

"Now, here's what's going to happen," she instructed as she picked up the switch and sat down on the chair: legs wide apart, boots level with the chair legs. "It's not conceivable for you to walk out of here without any physical marks, so I have to do this. I have no choice. But, I'll set it to the lowest level and discharge it once."

Virgil felt his eye's widening, he opened his mouth to clarify her humanity but soon closed it again as she continued to speak.

"After that, you're going to scream when I tell you," she directed. Any inclination towards humanity forgotten. "Loudly."

Virgil realised the apprehension could no longer be abated by thoughts of his paint store. This was really happening. Right now.

"And you're going to make it sound good," the Colonel carried on as she lifted her thumb and let if hover over the switch. "Because I'm not prepared to compromise my mission for you, particularly as you disregarded my warnings. So, I need those guards out there to believe I'm interrogating you and if you're not convincing enough for that, I'll have to do it for real." Leaning forward, elbows on her knees, her expression became sinister, her eyebrows drawn together. "Trust me when I say this Virgil: you really don't want that."

Despite all the instructions he'd received not to engage with his interrogator in any way, Virgil found himself nodding.

"Ready?" Her question filtered in to his hearing but before he had a chance to respond, his limbs were tensing, fingers and toes clenching out of control, nails clawing at the wood beneath. His muscles locked hard into a paroxysmal position, constricting to the point where it felt like they'd snap. Every nerve prickled, the sensation of a thousand pins and needles burning through his nervous system like some kind of wild fire as the heat of electricity raced through him to the nearest exit, taking his faculties with it.

It was over within seconds, but the guttural roar that came from somewhere deep in his chest lasted a lot longer.

His paint store was the last thing on his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

Scott had absolutely no clue how long it had been since Virgil had been taken from their joint cell. The sun was still in the sky and the shadows cast by the bars on the small window had moved a little, but without further information about their geographical location he could guess, at best, a couple of hours. He wondered how much longer it would take, wondered if they'd even bring him back to the same cell, wondered if he was even alive…

Jolted from his morbid thoughts at the sound of movement, Scott took renewed interest in the heavily secured door.

Two guards entered, manhandling a third person Scott could only assume, and to a certain degree hope, was Virgil.

Scott clenched his jaw and subtly moved his hands to underneath his thighs, resisting temptation and reducing automatic response to assist his brother. Instead, the only parts of Scott to move were his eyes. He watched with the intensity of a hawk as the guards gave Virgil one final rough shove to the centre of his back and he stumbled further in to the cell. With his hands still secured behind his back and no doubt disorientated from the hessian hood still covering his head, he fell hard to his knees.

One of the guards said something in a foreign language that caused the other to laugh. Scott didn't understand the comment but he knew the tone; the joke was clearly at Virgil's expense.

As the joker fastened Virgil's ankle to the wall and cut the tie holding his hands, the other turned to Scott.

"You next, yes?" he smiled menacingly.

Scott didn't grace him with a reply but he glared them into submission. And, having removed the bag covering Virgil's head, they departed.

Scott's attention immediately went to his brother. He took in a breath with the intention of speaking, but Virgil beat him to it.

"I'm okay, Scott."

Scott watched as Virgil screwed his eyes closed tight and tilted his head back before letting out a controlled breath.

"I'm okay." Opening his eyes, Virgil repeated the sentiment but this time with his usual calm, collected tone. A fire extinguisher to Scott's over-active imagination.

Scott found his attention drawn to Virgil's right hand which was shaking as if he had a trapped nerve. "Electric?" he guessed.

Virgil grunted out a noise which Scott presumed to be confirmation. He scuttled closer.

"Take it easy," he said softly as Virgil groaned and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "Here," Scott offered a helping hand to the elbow until he was satisfied that Virgil was as comfortable as he could be. He spied the red marks on Virgil's temples and reached his hand to Virgil's chin, tipping his brother's face away from him. "Did you pass out?"

Virgil hissed when Scott's fingers made contact with the injury. "No," he grumbled, allowing his eyes to close.

"Where did they take you?"

"I don't know."

"Did you go outside?"

"I don't know."

"Through any doors? How many?"

"I don't know."

"Think, Virgil." Scott was insistent. "I need to know what we're up against here. Concentrate."

"I'm trying!" Virgil snapped, his eyes suddenly open, wide and angry.

Scott faltered at the tone of voice his brother used. Deep down he knew this would be especially hard for Virgil.

"I…" Virgil took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Scott. I just…. I can't think straight. I feel exhausted." He suddenly grabbed at his shaking hand with enough force to warrant the slap of skin on skin contact.

"It'll pass," Scott reassured him. He moved so that he was sitting alongside his brother, against the wall. "Your muscles are in spasm. It won't last long."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Scott knew he didn't need to vocalise that whatever Virgil could tell him might help him to withstand his own bout of interrogation.

"We didn't go outside," when Virgil finally spoke, it seemed loud against the quiet. "We were alone. Same floor." He swallowed. "I didn't tell her anything." Another pause. "She didn't ask."

Scott's eyebrows drew together in confusion, his eyes asking questions his mouth didn't dare.

"One shock," Virgil gulped. It made no difference. His mouth felt rough and tasted of salt, his thirst was endless. "She faked it."

"One shock?" Scott asked. "That's all?"

Virgil let his head roll against the wall in an uncontrolled motion towards Scott, lips quirking with contempt, "One was enough." He held out his hand again as if to prove the point.

"How do you feel now?" Scott reached out to his brother's wrist, checking his pulse point under the guise of examining the small red mark there. "Any palpitations?"

"No. Just tired," Virgil replied drowsily. "And sore," he shuffled, grimacing a little and shaking his right hand free only to slap his left hand into it again to stop the shaking. He looked across at Scott, studying him for a moment. "And, worried about what the hell she's going to do to you."

"Don't worry about me," Scott managed a smile. "I can handle her."

Virgil thought that was perhaps a bit overzealous but he didn't comment, instead casting his mind back to when he'd been removed from the room. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Two, maybe three." Virgil paused; then realised Scott might not be following his logic. "Doors."

"Locked?" Scott felt a little safer to question this time.

"No," Virgil yawned, allowing his grip on his hand to slacken. "Wait, yes. At least one was locked, I heard keys." He frowned. "You're not thinking about trying to escape are you?"

"I'm keeping my options open," Scott said softly.

"I thought you trusted her?" Virgil's eyes closed again and he moved his shoulders against the wall, as if to get comfortable. The fatigue was really kicking in now.

"I did," Scott agreed. "Until I found out she was an interrogator working for Kasim Templar," he shrugged, aware Virgil wouldn't have seen the action. "Now I'm not so sure." He eyed Virgil, calculating his responses. "You?"

One side of Virgil's mouth pulled up in the corner and his face expressed his indecision even with his eyes closed, "She could've made my life hell. She didn't." He ground out. "Right now, that's good enough for me."

XxxX

"Tracy One is ready for flight, Mr Tracy. Tin-Tin announced as she entered the lounge. "I'm just…."

She trailed off when she realised the level of activity in the room.

Brains was sat on one of the sofas, palm held computer resting on his knee with Gordon leant against the back of it, peering over his shoulder. "Th-there!" he suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

"Thunderbird Five, can you confirm that?" Jeff looked to John's image although the blond son in question was turned away from the feed.

A few moments passed where John just concentrated on his task but eventually he turned to face the room's occupants. "That's affirmative," came his reply.

Tin-Tin felt confused, she shot Alan a questioning look, not wanting to disturb anyone else from their tasks.

Alan responded: "Brains has picked up an intermittent transmission signal coming from an old ruined fortress in the Buh Al Kabir Desert, it started registering activity about the same time Scott and Virgil went AWOL."

"Satellite imagery appears to show the same activity is coming from the mountain town of Balesk, just inside the border with Saudi Arabia too," John was reporting. "I've not seen anything like this though. The signals are heavily encoded."

"Some k-kind of err m-message," Brains hypothesised, distracted.

"I may be able to shed some light on that," Penelope's soft, lush tones came across the airwaves as she appeared from the live image streaming in to Tracy Island. "I'm afraid there's no improvement in so far as any of my own sources but I've followed a few other avenues of enquiry. I'm afraid I've got nothing concrete; the information coming through is unreliable at best so I will offer that caveat before I start…." She looked to Jeff to ensure that he understood what she was saying, "… but I believe I have some indication of the brief given to the agent in deep cover and also their identity, Sam..."

"Samantha!" John exclaimed, butting in.

"Samuel," Penelope finished, correcting John's inaccurate assumption. "Samuel Morton, I don't have a clear understanding of where his orders originate but the last record I can find of his existence suggests he was a Surveillance Officer for the CIA. There's some talk of him being seconded to the World Security Council but obviously I can't corroborate that until someone from the WSC actually communicates with me. He may be the agent the World Security Council referred to. The Council would oppose direct action in Yemen so, if they are authorising this business, his brief would be surveillance and reconnaissance only. I'm confident the subject is Kasim Templar. His is the only subject of remote interest for miles. Morton's observation post is fifty miles from Tehbna, Oman where the Danger Zone was located, a place called Qu'Lak in the Buh Al Kabir desert…."

"No way!" Alan exclaimed. "Brains… show them what you found."

"Hold on a second, Alan," Jeff interrupted. "Go on, Penelope."

"Morton thinks that there's a team of about fifty soldiers inside this complex. Yesterday, two men dressed in blue were taken captive in a green Toyota and this morning, an individual known as the Colonel, a feared interrogator, was reported to have arrived."

Tin Tin's eyes welled but she blinked furiously.

Penelope was astute enough to pick up the influence those words had on the atmosphere in the Tracy Island Lounge. "I believe this to be a positive sign that the boys are still alive, Jeff," she pointed out.

To Jeff, it was a reminder of just how questionable that was. Raising both hands to knead his temple, he tried not to think about it; the alternative was unconscionable. "Can this Sam Morton offer us any assistance, Penny?"

"Doubtful I'm afraid," came the reply. "His orders would be recon only. Any action would confirm his existence. I also have a few concerns that to formally request assistance we'd have to compromise my source which, given that it's the only source I have communicating with me currently would be a terrible shame." She trailed a pink fingernail down the side of her face, pushing aside strands of wayward blond hair. "I rather think involving him would create more problems than it would solve."

"I'm not surprised," John added to the conversation. "I didn't think Yemen was part of the World Council." But his tone indicated that he knew darned well that it wasn't.

"It isn't," Penelope confirmed. "This is another reason why I would suspect the orders are for recon only. If the authorities in Yemen knew that an operation was ongoing within their borders, whether the CIA are acting independently or on the direction of the WSC …"

"Good God," Jeff heaved out a sigh. "Haven't we seen enough conflict over the last few days in Kelmayalfa."

"Well, that's probably why Templar's gone to ground there," John commented, aware that he didn't need to point that out to his father. "Yemen's supply of Vorva comes through the dessert via Quatar and then through Saudi Arabia. What with the desert and the Gulf, they're pretty reliant on the supply of Vorva for energy. I'm guessing they'll want to stay pretty neutral in all this. Taking sides would be a gamble they can't afford to take and they're going to have to do business with whoever takes control." He paused. "Tamplar's found a pretty good hiding place."

"We don't know what Yemen's stance on all this is," Gordon added in, from his place alongside Brains. "I mean, sure their defence capabilities aren't particularly strong but do they even know what's going on down there?"

"We can't prove anything's going on down there, yet," Jeff pointed out. "All we've got is some transmission we can't identify and the contents of the Intelligence Community rumour mill." He turned his head towards his space bound son. "We're still no closer to identifying the woman and we still don't know her motives. John, has she been in touch?"

"Negative, Father," John replied, disappointment written all over his face.

There was a brief silence across the airwaves and the tension cranked up a notch in the Tracy Island Villa. Everyone present was hoping that wasn't some kind of evidence that the woman had failed.

"Okay, lets regroup." Jeff heaved a sigh. "What have we got?" he looked around the room at the occupants and then to the two live feeds. There was a distinct lack of response. "What do we know?" he clarified. "For sure?"

"For sure?" John took the lead. "That Scott and Virgil aren't where they should be; that Kasim Templar broke out of jail and that the whole world's on the brink of World War Three."

"Putting it like that," Gordon begrudgingly pointed out, "that's not a whole heap to go on."

"We have intelligence to suggest that Kasim Templar has a grudge against International Rescue," Penelope reported. "That he has means and motive to act on that. The timing of his escape fits with a theory that Scott and Virgil are in Qu'Lak and we have reason to believe Templar is under surveillance there."

"The err… green Toyota…." Brains spoke up for the first time. "Do we err…. H-have any more err… in-information about that?"

"Negative, Brains," Penelope replied. "I can attempt to do some more digging if necessary."

"The Satellite imagery we picked up from Tehbna showed a green Toyota," Tin-Tin filled in, picking up a palm sized computer from the desk. Her fingers danced across the screen efficiently. "There were a number of cars but this was one was of interest because it was driving off at speed from the Danger Zone." She then pointed the computer to the screen on the opposite side of the desk where the image appeared.

"Licence plates?" Alan asked.

"No," Tin-Tin was shaking her head. "It's an impossible angle."

"Identifying features, Tin-Tin?" Jeff queried.

"Possibly a red front wing," Tin –Tin moved across to the screen and played the footage. A green Toyota was making off from the Thunderbird Two's port wing, a dust cloud ensuing. "Here," Tin-Tin froze the image and pointed to what looked like a red blob. "It's not much to go on, at maximum amplification, the pixels are blurred."

"I can cross check that with eye witness reports from Tehbna," John suggested. "And then pull imagery from Qu'Lak to see if I can identify the same vehicle. If we can confirm it's the same one, at least it firms up Penelope's reports."

"Agreed," Jeff replied. "Do that, John."

John's attention turned to the resident scientist, "Brains, can you get me a projection for the time frame it would've taken to get from Oman in to Qu'Lak and, possibly the route they'd most likely take?"

"FAB, J-John," Brains responded.

"I have a contact in the Presidential Guard in Yemen," Penelope divulged. "I haven't been in touch for a while, but I can try to make contact. I'll approach anyone I can think of in the neighbouring countries." Her eyes looked to Jeff as if trying to convey something she couldn't articulate. "I have a few of my own theories I'd like to follow up too but I'll report back directly to you on completion."

"Thanks, Penelope," Jeff gave a brief nod, acknowledging the unspoken request for his lone council.

"England, Out," she responded as her image flickered back to her portrait.

Jeff turned his attention to the occupants of the room, specifically to Tin-Tin, "You ready to leave?"

"Yes, Mr Tracy," She nodded and saw in her peripheral vision that Gordon and Alan were getting to their feet.

"Good, keep in touch," Jeff ordered. "Brains will send on the co-ordinates for the drop, Your GPS guiders have been pre-programmed with the route to take to get to the craft. Penny will RV with you there. Remember, we have very little information about what the hell's going on out there so keep your wits about you and trust _no-one._ We don't know how Scott and Virgil were overpowered. You could be walking right in to the same trap." He was slightly concerned to see the fire of excitement suddenly flicker across Alan's features, as if maybe he was actually looking forward to this, but quickly told himself that his youngest just needed something to do to aid his brothers. Looking to Gordon, he was reassured by the serious, steel glint in his son's eye, reminding him so much of Scott, "For God's sake, be careful out there."

"FAB," Gordon and Alan chorused as they joined Tin-Tin and headed towards the hangar that housed Tracy One.

"Father," John's voice came from the screen and without looking, Jeff knew that his son was about to question him. He had always encouraged them to voice their opinions and liked to think that his position at the Head of International Rescue was synonymous more with democracy than dictatorship.

"Are you buying this?" John queried. "The World Security Council agreed to let someone as high profile as Kasim Tamplar walk out of jail? I mean, come on!" He shook his head. "They've been chasing this guy for nearly a decade, I'm not convinced any of them would ever agree to letting him see daylight again. Not without some serious opposition."

"I know," Jeff acknowledged. "But we can only work on what we have, John."

John hesitated. "Are you sure about this, Father?" No matter how much his father welcomed being challenged, questioning someone as authoritative as Jeff Tracy was not a pleasant experience. "The woman said she'd be in touch. Maybe we should give her a chance? It would give us time to formulate some kind of plan too. Scott trusted her enough to give himself a few sleepless nights over what she'd said to him."

Jeff's head dropped, "I can't, John," he admitted and John's heart clenched at the despair in the air. "I can't sit here and do nothing. I don't need to remind you what Kasim Templar's capable of inflicting on his prisoners," He felt goose bumps break out down his arms. "We have to act."

"You don't think I feel the same?" John wasn't accusing, but he knew he could be frank with his father when they were alone like this across the airwaves. "But we could be putting the Organisation at additional risk of being compromised. If we act now and what she said was true, she could have gotten them both out by the time we're on the scene." He paused. "How do you think Scott and Virgil are going to react if we rescue them, only to have to pack up the whole operation afterwards?"

Jeff was reminded of the animated discussion that had occurred in the boardroom a few days ago. "John, we both know that's a very real possibility regardless of what happens next." He talked out the alternative, "If we do nothing, and she fails, we aren't in a position to help Scott and Virgil. We need to be prepared, having Gordon and Alan in Tehbna gives me piece of mind that the craft are secure. It also puts them in a better position to offer assistance in Qu'Lak should the need arise."

"You do definitely intend to … act, then," John studied his father's image carefully trying to determine every line across his forehead, every muscle twitching around his jaw.

"If necessary," Jeff confirmed.

"Dad… " John tried to adopt a softer approach. "The last thing I want to think about is Scott and Virgil hurt." He didn't add on any other of the plethora of possibilities. "But if International Rescue is seen entering Yemen and using force…."

"I don't care about politics John, I care about you boys," Jeff's response was firm. No doubt and certainly no room to question or appeal. "Kasim Templar wants International Rescue's technology and he'll get it," Jeff ground out. "He'll get the full force of it."

"Father…" John was distracted by something on his right. "Wait figures two, unidentified call sign," he could be heard to say off-screen. "Base, I have an incoming call."

"FAB. That's received Thunderbird Five, Base standing by," Jeff returned. He left the line open his end so as he could hear at least John's side of the conversation.

"Line clear unidentified call sign. This is Thunderbird Five receiving you, strength five, go ahead."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Virgil's return to the land of the living was disappointing to say the least. He bit his dry lips together and attempted to swallow; the outcome was no different to the result he'd had earlier. Lack of saliva and dry air combined to give the feeling of sand down his throat and tentacles lining the insides of his mouth.

"Hey," Scott spied the movement. "How do you feel?"

Virgil groaned, taking in a deep breath only exacerbated the drought in his throat. "Not a dream," he grumbled.

"No," Scott confirmed. "Not a dream. Not even a nightmare."

Virgil made no comment.

"You okay?" Scott asked again, clearly concerned. "How's the muscle spasm?"

"I'm fine," Virgil held out his hand, a little steadier than before. He knew that whilst he was dozing away, Scott would have been brooding on their situation, helpless to do much else. "How long was I asleep?"

Scott shrugged. "No idea. Couple of hours maybe? You sure needed it." Virgil could feel his brother watching him, probably trying to gauge how to proceed.

"I err," Virgil looked directly to Scott. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Scott shook his head in an act of dismissal, "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. I know this isn't easy for you."

"You need to know. I understand that. I was just…" Virgil struggled to finish the sentence, as if his next words were a confession. "She only did it once, Scott. I don't know how anyone could withstand that over a prolonged period, I …. I don't think I could do it again."

"You won't have to," Scott assured him. "They'll take me next."

"We don't know that."

"Sure we do," Scott tried to sound sure in the face of Virgil's unease. "One of the guards said."

"Don't underestimate her, Scott." Virgil felt suddenly alarmed at Scott's casual approach to this prospect. "And don't goad her either, I know what you're doing and so does she. It's not working."

Scott played his best innocent face, "What?"

"You're goading her because you think you're distracting her from me but all your doing is drawing her attention to the fact that you're protecting me." Virgil heaved out a heavy sigh. "That I'm the one they can use as leverage, that I'm the weak link."

"It doesn't make _you_ weak," Scott was quick to respond.

"No?"

"I've had training for this kind of thing," Scott spoke softly and Virgil went to interrupt but his brother hurried to speak before he had the chance. "Much more in-depth training than Penelope provided. Just like you're trained to be an engineer and if we were talking about …." Scott picked something at random from a conversation he'd overheard between Virgil and Brains recently, "… ply separation or metallurgical factors, then I'd be the weak link."

"You're quite capable of understanding electrochemical corrosion rates."

"You know what I'm saying."

Virgil realised he wasn't going to win. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I'll be fine," Scott side stepped the request.

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose. "If we're going to get out of here, we need you in one piece." He looked Scott in the eye once more. "Don't provoke her."

Scott wouldn't commit.

"Scott…." Virgil shifted slightly and then hissed as the tight skin around his elbows became painful.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much," Virgil was examining the small circular burns on the inside of his elbows; red and angry on the outside, turning pinker towards the middle and then white in the centre.

"I've had a look, there's a little blistering on your feet," Scott eyed the injury too. "Can I do anything?"

"Promise me you'll do what she says," Virgil requested. "She is trying, we just have to give her some time."

"Is that what she told you?" Scott wasn't convinced and his thoughts were turning back towards strategy. "What else did she say?"

"Only that she's working on getting us out," Virgil relayed. "It's not going to be easy though, and I get the impression she's mighty sore we didn't take her warning more seriously."

"Yeah," Scott ran a hand through his hair. "I'm getting that too."

"She told me more than once how she couldn't blow her cover to get us out but that she's working on it," Virgil went on. "We just have to be patient and hold out a little longer."

"Hmm…" Scott clearly wasn't convinced. "And a little longer, and a little longer. This could be a tactical approach, you realise that?" He didn't wait for an answer. "She could be making a play to gain out trust before she really turns on the heat."

"So why warn us ten days before?" Virgil sounded as if the very thought shattered him.

"All part of the plan," Scott discounted that as evidence of her trustworthiness. "What better way to gain our trust than by warning us exactly what was going to happen and then pretending to be 'helping us'."

"Scott, I think you're being a little paranoid," Virgil generally wouldn't have been so blunt but he was exhausted and his mouth to brain relay perhaps wasn't functioning at optimum.

"Virgil," Scott's response didn't carry the frustration Virgil expected. "We need to be paranoid. That's precisely the point she made inside the Mole that day; we are far too trusting."

"Maybe," Virgil had to agree to that. "But after she left the Mole, we could have upgraded all our security systems. Hell, we could have closed down operations completely until we'd put her advice in to practice. She couldn't possibly have known whether we had or hadn't done that." He raised his shoulders in a shrug.

"There was media coverage of the Mid Atlantic Ridge Rescue the night before," Scott answered. "The world knew International Rescue was still operational."

"Even so," Virgil replied. "When she first entered this room, I think she was genuinely angry that we were here."

"You really believe her don't you?" It was a statement. He was already aware from Virgil's tone of voice and the lack of analytical input to his version of events. "Even though there's a possibility that all this," he waved his hand around the room, "could be part of her plan."

"I don't think there's an alternative, Scott. Right now, we have to believe in her because she's all we've got," Virgil's reply came. "Our communicators are gone," he raised his wrist to prove it, "John will have no means of tracking us, or even knowing if we're alive. We've already established we don't remember what happened. Dad's going to be having a coronary by now. We don't even know for sure the craft are secure."

Scott shook his head. "The craft have to be secure; the new lockdown procedures were installed and even if they didn't trigger automatically, which we have no reason to believe they didn't, John will have activated them."

"We can't be sure."

"You think Templar would be torturing us for information if he had his hands on One? Nah, he'd hurt one of us until the other granted him access. Then he'd have killed the both of us."

Scott's eyes slid to his brother for a moment, trying to gauge Virgil's reaction to that concept.

"Great." Virgil lowered his head a little and let out a bitter laugh. "That's a reassuring thought." He paused for a few minutes. "Just how extensive do you think this attack is?"

"Huh?"

"I mean … he got to us. I was thinking, what's to stop him getting to John? Or, Penelope? Or, even home?"

"I doubt it," Scott was the voice of reason. "He's not smart enough. Besides that, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from gloating. No, I think it's just me and you, buddy."

"I sure hope so, I don't even want to think about any of the others stuck here." The comment sparked another thought in Virgil, "Do you even have any idea where we are?"

"Desert." It was clear Scott had given it a lot of thought with all the time he'd found on his hands. "Air's dry and humid, and the last time we went head to head with Templar, it was the Sahara Desert."

Virgil ran a hand along the concrete floor and then raised it palm up, "Sand." He provided further evidence.

"Other than that, no, I guess not. We have no idea how long we were out, how long we travelled…"

"If we travelled…"

"If we travelled," Scott acknowledged. "That window," he pointed to the tiny barred opening high on the wall, "Doesn't tell us much. It's too small to even give any decent shadows, we can't even guess..."

The sound of footsteps and hushed conversation in foreign tongue brought their conversation to a halt. The tinny sound of a key rattling in the lock and then metal bolts being retracted was the pre-cursors to the door being opened. The Colonel entered, one hand raised to the guards at the door, preventing them from following. She gestured for them to wait outside and the door was closed.

"How are you?"

The question was aimed at Virgil.

The response came from Scott. Now on his feet, shoulders squared in an act of hostility.

"He'd be a hell of a lot better if you hadn't forced thousands of volts of electricity through his body. You could have eased off a little."

"Eased off? Eased off!" The Colonel was aghast. "I did … ease off; the voltage wouldn't have gone any lower if I tried and I only discharged it once. I didn't even use all the electrodes!"

"Oh, well, thanks. Is that supposed to make us trust you? Huh?" Scott hissed. "Make us think this good cop, bad cop thing isn't all part of your plan?"

"You doubt my loyalties? After all I've done..."

"Doubting the loyalties of a mole isn't exactly a leap of logic."

"Don't you dare take that tone with me!" She growled, eyes dancing with the same malice Virgil had seen previously, her shoulders squaring to give a formidable pose; a mirror image of Scott's. Virgil could see they were both used to being in control and neither were familiar with the concept of being challenged in this way. "I'm doing everything I can to assist you."

"You have keys to the door," Scott rebuked. "If you were doing everything you could to assist us, we wouldn't be here!"

"If you'd listened to me in the first place, you wouldn't be here!" The Colonel took a step closer to Scott. Her eyes blazed. "You're the commander," she raised a pointed finger squarely at Scott's chest. "Your poor judgement. Your poor risk management. Your ultimate responsibility. I would remind you that being in command isn't just about barking orders, it's about protecting your assets! Your technology," she nodded her head in Virgil's direction, "and your team!"

"Don't…" Scott attempted to interrupt but didn't get the opportunity to complete the sentence.

"You're responsible for this! I warned you this would happen. I even told you what you needed to do!" She was becoming more and more irate. "So if you want to start apportioning blame, take a long hard look in the mirror first!"

Scott's mouth opened but there was a second of hesitation there that suggested to Virgil this wasn't the first time those thoughts had crossed his brother's mind.

"You'd do well to remember that I am under no obligation to save your lives, I've already done my part in trying to prevent this so my conscience is clear." The Colonel paced in front him, walking a stride away as if she thought she should let the matter drop but then changing her mind. "If I walk away from you right now, Aban will kill you. Make no mistake about that. If he can't extract the information he wants, he'll kill you," she repeated. "If he can, he'll kill you anyway." Her eyes were dark. "And International Rescue will be over! The war will be over!" she exclaimed. "The only thing standing between you and him right now, is me so if you want to get out of here alive and International Rescue to continue, you will do what I say, when I say, how I say. Is that clear?"

Scott held her gaze, glaring back. Neither prepared to back down.

"Is .. that … clear?" she repeated the words.

Before either had time to speak again, the door was pushed open and Aban strolled in.

"Problem, Colonel?" He asked with his heavy accent.

"No," Her reply came as she slammed her knee into Scott's groin, "The mouthy one just needs putting his place."

Scott doubled over, holding the aforementioned area and hoping the pain would subside enough to allow him to gasp for air. The Colonel was ruthless, yanking him up straight with a vicious tug of his hair.

A smug smirk dominated Aban's features but he appeared satisfied, so turned and exited the room.

The Colonel released her hold and Scott immediately slipped back in to his doubled over position to ease the pain spiking through his abdomen.

"Was that …." He gasped out, trying to regain his composure, "really…. Necessary?"

"More than necessary," The Colonel replied. "Now, do we have an accord or not?"

She waited for Scott's nod before the hood was placed over his face and he was plunged in to musty, stale, darkness.

XxxxX

Tin-Tin felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her face; Penelope would be horrified at such an un-ladylike appearance. She concentrated hard on flying the course John had set for her, hopefully the least likely to draw attention to them, flying illegally across the Middle East.

"How does it feel Tin-Tin?" Gordon spoke up from behind her in a faux-jovial tone. "All these underhand activities give you a buzz?"

With the close quarters they worked in, it was hardly surprising he could read her so well. Virgil was the same… her thoughts became melancholy.

"No, Gordon," she replied, making every attempt to concentrate on flying. "It does not give me a 'buzz'." She sighed, adjusting her course at John's marker. "I just want Scott and Virgil back. Unharmed."

"We all do, Honey," Gordon's hand was on her shoulder, offering her reassurance. "And we will get them back, Tin-Tin. They'll be okay," he told her. "They're made of tough stuff."

"Hmm…" Tin-Tin's response came without conviction.

"I've double checked the kit," Alan reported as he entered the cockpit, "We're good to go." Gordon gestured that Tin-Tin was upset. "How far Tin-Tin?" Like Gordon before him, Alan attempted to divert attention to the task at hand.

"About 30 minutes," she replied.

"Tracy One, Tracy One from Thunderbird Five."

Gordon took the opportunity to remove himself from his position and used both hands to access the radio, "Tracy One receiving strength five, go ahead Thunderbird Five."

"Computer systems are showing you're almost at the drop," John's voice came over the radio waves, his image appearing on the screen although much smaller than their usual communications. "Thought you might like to know I've confirmed the vehicle, the green Toyota. Following a rough time projection, I've got satellite of a vehicle matching that description entering the desert. I've tracked it to the fortress."

"So we can be sure the men Sam Morton reported are Scott and Virgil now," Tin-Tin concluded.

"We can't be sure they were in the car when it reached the desert …" Gordon attempted a more tactful approach, "But yeah, that's the most likely outcome."

John nodded on the screen, indicating his approval and that Gordon didn't need to say his thoughts aloud. "I haven't heard back from Penelope yet," he added. "But The Woman's been in touch."

Gordon looked across Tin-Tin's head to Alan, anxiety written all over his face.

"And?" Alan prompted his other blond brother.

"Actually, that's why I called," John advised. "She sent a message in morse code, people just don't use that anymore so my skills are a little rusty. I've hit a snag," He looked at Gordon. "I know you used it in WASP a little, if I play this, can you just double check what I've got? It's the last part that's got me stumped."

"Wait two," Gordon scrambled for a pen and paper around the cockpit. "Go ahead."

A serious of dots, dashes and pauses filtered through the airways and Gordon scribbled notes, nodding to himself. Alan hovered at his shoulder, struggling to read Gordon's messy handwriting as the recording came to an end.

"Cntct md," Gordon read out. "medevac neg, extr 0600 GMT. RVDZ 0830 GMT."

John was nodding on the screen. "Contact made," he translated. "Medevac negative, extraction at 0600 GMT. That's what I got too but what's RVDZ?"

"Tin-Tin?" Alan interrupted. "Is that shorthand for anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"RVDZ 0830 GMT," Gordon read aloud. "It must be a location."

"Of course!" Tin-Tin suddenly exclaimed. "Danger Zone! She wants us to rendezvous with her at the Danger Zone at 0830 GMT."

John looked startled, "Why didn't I think of that? It's obvious." No-one pointed out that their overriding concern for their brothers was affecting all of them.

"Does Dad know she's been in touch?" Alan queried.

"Yeah, he does," John replied. "He still wants you to get to Tehbna, and possibly go on to Qu'Lak so we're ready to act if things don't go to plan."

Alan glanced to Gordon, having picked up on the tone in John's voice. "You don't agree?"

"It's not that I don't agree," John replied. "I want Scott and Virgil back, we all do, let's be straight about that. They're my brothers too. I…" he hesitated. "I just think there's a lot to consider here, politically. We may be able to get the same outcome without International Rescue making enemies. We haven't heard back from Penelope yet, we don't know how Yemen will respond."

"And you're worried about politics right now?" Alan seemed shocked but to John's surprise, it was Gordon who understood.

"John has a point, the long term is something we have to consider but Yemen won't want to get involved, you were right with what you said before," Gordon raised a hand to John. "They need to have a business relationship with whoever controls Vorva to survive and if Templar is being influenced by the Russians…. Yemen can't afford to be on the losing side. Ideally, they'll be Switzerland, but if pushed I think they'd go with Russia."

"Which won't help us," Alan pointed out.

"No," John agreed. "But I don't think entering Yemen uninvited and then busting Scott and Virgil out will help us either."

"I don't give a damn how we do it so long as by the time we get home tonight, we have Scott and Virgil with us. Any means necessary." Gordon looked to John, anticipating some kind of rebuke but John didn't rise to it. "Besides, we talked about International Rescue ending, I just never thought it'd be like this."

"Ahh," Alan scrunched his face up in a gesture that was sarcastically flippant. "What can Yemen do to us? Their forces are hardly kick-ass and they're going to be busy protecting their own borders; there were reports of rioting along the areas where Vorva's piped, just before we left home."

"It's not Yemen we need to worry about," Gordon said grimly. "If they ally themselves with Russia and they perceive this as a threat, Russia will be gunning for us." He looked across the instrument panel Tin-Tin was using as a guide. "I guess we just have to take the positives; if Scott or Virgil were hurt, they'd require a medevac which The Woman's not requested. We just have to hope Penelope brings us some good news and The Woman's plan works out. We're almost at the drop, John," he looked to Alan. "We'd better get ready."

"FAB," John hesitated in signing off. "Be careful out there, guys," he added softly. "Thunderbird Five, Out."

Alan had turned to Gordon before John's words had faded through the speakers. "That was tame. I know how strongly you feel about John's …" he searched for the right word, "idealistic views on war."

"He has a point. I'm not stupid, Al, I can see that." Gordon sighed. "Whatever happens, however this plays out, there's no going back."

"You really think this could be the end for International Rescue?"

"If it comes to a choice between sacrificing International Rescue for Scott and Virgil, or Scott and Virgil for International Rescue," Gordon grimaced. "I know which I'd pick."

XxxX

Scott had been led through a myriad of twists and turns which, combined with his obstructed sense of sight, ensured he had no idea where he was. When they'd finally passed through a locked doorway, the artificial cool of air conditioning caused his skin to tingle. It was a welcome relief to the humid, oppressive heat he'd been subject to. The firm grip of the hands guiding him had been removed, the zip-tie cut and a direct order to "hold him" given in a familiar female voice, prior to large rough hands pinning his wrists to his sides. Fingers had ghosted across his waist pulling his shirt up over his chest and then holding the hood in place whilst the shirt was slipped over his head and finally, down his arms.

No other words were spoken but the grip on his wrists pushed him backwards until his naked back hit something hard and cold, which he assumed to be metal.

"Zone One Electros engaged."

Scott did his utmost not to startle as the mechanical voice chimed out. The sound of metal grinding on metal penetrating his hearing and something cool circled his wrists, still pinned to his sides. A hefty clunk secured them in place and the grip was removed. Out of habit, Scott tested the restraint but it didn't budge an inch.

"Zone Two Electros engaged."

The process was repeated at his ankles.

A few more moments passed before he heard the door open and then close again; presumably the hired help making their exit.

When the hood was pulled from Scott's face, he found himself in a room so white it made his eyes stream.

"We're alone," The Colonel confirmed as she walked away, hood in hand but soon discarded on a nearby table. "But I doubt we will be for long." She felt in her pocket and pulled out a roll of tape. "Aban suspects me, after I …eased up," she raised an eyebrow pointedly, "on your brother." She used her teeth to cut a length of tape off. "We might have to do this for real."

Scott was still taking in his surroundings; he was indeed strapped to some form of metal back board. A computerised unit to his left was flashing green lights under 'Zone 1' and 'Zone 2' and he realised these corresponded to the electromagnets holding his wrists and ankles in place.

"Ever been water-boarded before?" The Colonel asked, peeling protective layers from the tape as she walked close enough to reach Scott's right hand. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling.

Scott followed her vision, spying the piping which hung overhead; a hosepipe complete with sprinkler attachment. He tried not to let his apprehension show and allowed himself to be distracted by the pressure at his hand as she applied the tape. He looked down.

"Double sided sticky tape," she explained as she pulled a rubber ball out of her pocket and pushed it into his palm. "Don't want you giving anything away. Relax your grip," she ordered. Scott complied but the ball stayed where it was, stuck to the inside of his palm. "Perfect."

"Unnecessary," Scott pushed his anxieties to the deepest part of his gut and searched for some mettle.

"We'll see," The Colonel countered, attaching a plastic square to a finger on Scott's left hand. Green figures suddenly lit up on the screen, flashing intermittently. "Pulse Ox," The Colonel saw him looking and explained. "Helps me to maximise respiratory distress but prevent actual asphyxiation."

"I can handle anything you've got," Scott scoffed, trying to appear confident.

"I really hope so," The Colonel looked into his eyes, malevolence sparkling like crystal in sunlight. "Because if I get the slightest hint of suggestion that you're going to blow my cover, and I mean even this much," she held up her thumb and finger a short distance apart. "I'll kill you. I won't have a choice. It's remarkably easy to kill someone doing this, purely accidental of course."

There wasn't a doubt in Scott's mind that she was one hundred and ten percent genuine in her threats. He didn't have time to dwell on it as the sound of hydraulics hissed into life and he was being tipped backwards in a manner not dissimilar to Virgil's chute down to Thunderbird Two. Only, Virgil had a padded construction and electromagnetic restraints weren't involved. The motion kept going until he was passed the point of being horizontal and stopped with his head slightly lower than his chest.

"This is the perfect angle to maximise the amount of water entering your mouth, nose and sinuses," The Colonel appeared to his left, reaching up for the pipe which hung from the ceiling. "Take a deep breath in, keep your mouth closed and breathe out as slowly as you can through your nose."

The sound of running water bouncing off the floor filled the room for a few seconds before he felt the spray move across his chest. The water was cold and with the air conditioning hitting him too, he felt goosebumps breaking out on his upper body.

"So, Commander," The Colonel abruptly spat out as her eyes slid pointedly to the door. "You're all mouth and not a lot else, aren't you?"

Scott didn't reply. He focused on the ceiling in an effort to let his mind drift and follow his own advice. He found himself wondering if it was her hands he'd felt prying his shirt away.

"Very good," The Colonel was patronising. "You've had some counter interrogation training, I see." The water moved up his chest, closer to his chin and Scott felt himself tipping his head backwards in an effort to avoid it. Her hand pushed down on his forehead to prevent him. "Unlike your colleague," He caught a glimpse of her cruel grin. "Electric can actually be quite funny; those little jerky movements people make as the power surges through them, I understand it's awfully painful. You couldn't protect him from me, could you?" She adopted an American accent. "I'll bet that just eats you up inside." She smirked, returning to her normal inflection. "You failed, Commander. He blames you. He told me. How he hates you." Short sharp sentences used to provoke him. "Just before he screamed for me," The Colonel paused. "You'll scream too," she demanded ominously.

Scott felt anger surge within him, white and hot, flushing over him in contrast to the simulated cold. He took in a shaky breath, aware that she was exploiting his known weakness but, such were the images his imagination was providing of what she'd done to his brother that he was unable to stop himself reacting.

"Screw you," he spat out.

In one swift motion, the hand on his forehead was whipped across his face. The sound of the impact followed a few seconds later. The sting was fiercer than he was expecting from a woman.

"Tell me what I want to hear or don't speak at all," The Colonel ground out. She inclined her head slightly to the right. "Aban," she acknowledged, feigning realisation that he was there and becoming distracted slightly. "Nice of you to join us."

"I wish to see Master at work," Aban's poor grasp of English floated into Scott's hearing from somewhere out of sight.

"This Master works best alone."

"I stay," Aban replied.

"Very well," The Colonel didn't appear surprised and returned her attention to the water cascading over Scott's chest. Scott felt her remove her hand from his forehead and a green cloth was placed over his mouth and nose, he moved his head from side to side attempting to resist. He knew he would never succeed but if nothing else it proved the fight left in him and showed them that he would not be broken easily. "We don't have to do this, Commander." The Colonel addressed him. "All you have to do is talk to me, tell me where your base of operations is."

Scott didn't respond.

"Commander, you're a reasonable man, last chance before things get messy. Tell me the Security features on the Thunderbirds."

Scott didn't respond.

"Very well." Pressure returned to his forehead, pinning his head in place. Even dry, the cloth was already hampering his ability to pull oxygen in to his lungs.

"Drop the ball when you've had enough and we'll talk," spoken so casually that they could have been discussing the weather.

The slightest of nods and Scott was reminded of her words of advice. He took in a deep breath as the spray of water started to soak through the cloth.

For the first few seconds, he could breathe against it, preventing the water from entering his throat or nose but after all the air from his deep breath was expelled the liquid began to pour in.

As the water tickled his glottis, he instinctively choked and pressure spiked to the point of acute pain in his head. Coughing was a big mistake; his attempts to expel water only resulted in more being dragged in. His eyes were streaming, bulging in their sockets as his nose and sinuses filled and over-flowed with the constant spray of fluid. Fiery agony shot through all his straining muscles as he struggled to breathe, the green cloth now so saturated that it stuck to his face; attempts at breathing merely sucking it into his mouth along with yet more water.

Despite his best efforts, rational thought left him and his body took over. His natural response to the lack of oxygen was to panic and in complete and utter contrast to everything that epitomised Scott Tracy, that's exactly what he did. The gateway to his primordial, pre-programmed instinct for survival was swung wide open and a whole manner of frightening emotions let loose.

Underneath the cloth, his lips began to form an 'S' with the intention to tell her to stop but the water kept coming and a gargled sound was all he could muster. He couldn't talk for the stream of fluid, he couldn't move for the restraints. Like every other human being, inbred fear of asphyxiating was hard-wired into the panic button in Scott Tracy's brain, sending messages to every muscle he possessed to flee the danger or fight it; his limbs writhing and thrashing in a display of extreme panic.

It was all in vain. Logic dictated that one man would never break bonds forged in steel. The Colonel held his head angled at the flow of water, the electromagnetics held him resolutely in place, and still, the water kept coming. Scott's vision was starting to pepper with black spots, darkness lurking at the edges but spreading inwards. Past experience told him, unconsciousness would follow. He'd have never believed he'd welcome it.

In the background she was telling him to drop the ball, reciting over and over that all he had to do was drop the ball. Scott had long since given up his hold on the rubber ball, resorting to grazing it with his nails in an effort to break the sticky seal and flick it away but like all his other attempts, it was hopeless. Tell them his name; she was repeating somewhere far off. Tell them the security features on Thunderbird One. Tell them the location of their base of operation.

Scott was convinced she was going to kill him there and then.

And then suddenly it stopped.

The water stopped coming. No longer did the stream of liquid make his body's demands for oxygen impossible to deliver. The cloth was not removed but he began to gasp in his attempts to draw in oxygen through it, pulling it so far in to his mouth he thought he might choke on it.

Coughing and spluttering he managed to force out some slime and shakily rattle in a breath. It was disgusting; phlegm and saliva covered his face and ran in to his eyes, mixed with thick slimy mucus.

The reprieve lasted only seconds before the spray of water was back.

His breathing wasn't evened out. His heart still pounded from the lack of oxygen and his ears were rushing with the sound of water and his own pulse rate.

It wasn't long enough, his thoughts were frantic, but the opportunity to succumb was gone, valuable seconds wasted on attempting to breathe again. Water poured back into his mouth and nose once more, familiar pressure shooting through his sinuses forcing tears out the edges of his eyes to mix with all the other bodily fluids.

Her voice remained in the background, constantly making demands of him and reminding him of his failings.

In all the years Scott had experienced with International Rescue, he'd had more than a few close calls but never had he believed with such terrifying fear, that he had been this close to death before.


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Another far-too brief reprieve came to an end.

Every fibre of Scott Tracy's being seared; he was exhausted, in body and in mind. He just couldn't fight any longer. He had no idea how much water he'd swallowed, his eyes were sore, and his sinuses and the back of his throat were on fire. Ankles and wrists bruised, bloodied and friction burned where he'd waged a one-man war against the force of electromagnetics which he knew, had he been of sound mind, had the potential to be nearly as powerful as those designed to hold Thunderbird Two's Pod in place.

The Colonel's hand remained on his forehead, applying pressure which was now unnecessary. His neck muscles had long since abandoned the task of protesting this abuse, his efforts now concentrating on some kind of survival.

Still she went on.

Scott could hear her shouts and demands, although they'd faded to meaningless background noise as he teetered on the brink of blissful darkness. Trapped in a living nightmare of those few seconds where unrestrained terror was his only companion before unconsciousness claimed him. He'd passed the stage were his muscles spasmed for oxygen, now just in a constant state of burning agony as the convulsions came in ripples, over and over, causing his whole upper body to lift, as far as was possible, from the metal table.

Suddenly his wheezing for breath became an ominous gurgle somewhere deep inside him.

Immediately, everything changed.

The spray of water moved away and the light pressure on his forehead was removed. He started to gasp but this time nothing happened. Not even the smallest molecule of oxygen filled his lungs.

"Warning," The noise of an automated female voice sounded in the background somewhere. "Warning," it repeated.

"Aban, tip him!" The Colonel ordered.

To Scott, the words were muffled, as if he was one step removed from the situation. The sensation was odd, he knew he should be panicking and his body was doing all the right things; eyes now open, despite the mix of mucus, water and god knows what else blurring his vision. Adrenaline suddenly provided the energy to attempt to lift himself up. It felt like the veins in his forehead were bulging, protruding with the strain, his body now in a constant state of spasm, forcing the restraints to bite even further in to his already injured limbs. Yet, his mind was numb. He just didn't have the capacity to panic anymore.

There was pressure on his abdomen, a fist thrusting and the Colonel telling him from somewhere above: "Breathe. Just breathe, Scott."

The pressure built inside him and he could feel it push up through his chest but there just wasn't enough power to break through his airway.

"Aban!" Scott was vaguely aware of her shouting, as his vision started to grey, "Aban! Get back here!" The door slammed and then a softer… "Bloody hell…"

The hiss of hydraulics filled the air. He recognised the sound, knew to expect movement even, but his brain was so sluggish that the table had dropped into a vertical position before he'd even had time to process it. Pain spiked at the pressure on his shredded left wrist and ankle, and his neck snapped at the sudden jolt but it didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore.

"Emergency Release."

A pause.

"Active."

A clunk.

And suddenly he was falling the short distance to the ground.

"Don't panic," she instructed, her hands on his head as the rest of his body hit the deck.

Scott was convinced that this was what death felt like; his limbs were like lead weights and all emotional intelligence had left him. Even if he had the capability to understand what was happening or what she was doing, there was no way he could make any physical effort to assist her.

"We've got…" she grunted out as she knelt behind him and manhandled him against her chest, " a few minutes…" Her hands moved to his torso and downwards, snaking around him to form a fist against his abdomen. "…before there's any brain damage."

Scott knew it was taking him longer than it should to make the words out; the compressions against his abdomen weren't timed with the gaps in her words. Like poor quality dubbing.

"Keep your head back. Keep your airway open, you hear me?"

Scott had only just realised what she'd said when there was a sharp pain in his neck followed eerily by the sound of a staple-gun, and then someone pulled the curtains on the slither of light left of his vision.

The whole thing was over in seconds, but to Scott it had been lifetime.

XxxxX

Tin-Tin arrived home according to schedule and tucked Tracy One back in to her hangar, neither showing any visible signs that they'd just violated every International Aviation Law in existence. Feeling a weight lift from her shoulders, that her criminal activity was complete, Tin-Tin headed towards the main Lounge.

"… like John said." Tin-Tin just caught the tail–end of Penelope's transmission as she entered the room, immediately aware from the atmosphere that whatever the news was, it wasn't good.

"I knew it," John was shaking his head. "They don't want to know!"

"Precisely," Penelope was agreeing. "Plausible deniability."

Tin-Tin opted for a seat next to her father on the couch, who informed her in soft tones, "Lady Penelope has been in touch with Yemen, they will not acknowledge there is a situation, to do so they would have to pick a side."

Tin-Tin nodded, "I see."

"Did the Presidential Guard offer anything else, Penny?" Jeff looked weary to the bone and it showed in his tone.

"Very little," Penelope reported. "The Fortress is in such a remote area that Yemeneese Officials conduct habitation checks quarterly. At the point of the last check, there were no signs of habitation."

"When was that?"

"Approaching five weeks ago."

"Five weeks!" Jeff exclaimed. "Anything could've happened in five weeks!"

"I did point that out at the time and proposed they revisit the fortress. Unfortunately, I was told in no uncertain terms that they did not have the resources for such follies with the recent rioting on the border. I offered our services to conduct our own habitation check, as they call it, but they were offended at the suggestion that they could not manage their own affairs. I was accused of questioning the sovereignty of their government." Penelope sighed and Tin-Tin saw a blonde lock fall into her face. "I could hardly tell them that the WSC and the CIA are operating illegally within their borders. I was reminded that without some kind of formal request for Emergency Assistance, for International Rescue to enter Yemen would be perceived by them as an act of aggression."

"Maybe I perceive it to be an act of aggression, them harbouring the criminals holding my sons hostage," Jeff growled out.

Penelope disregarded the comment. "I believe there may have been some external input to the dialogue as it was more sophisticated than I expected, but in slightly more polite terms, I was told to keep my nose out of their business. At which point, I withdrew from the exchange. What with political relations being a little strained, at present I thought it best."

"Of course," Jeff was in agreement even though his expression was marred with frustration. "And the World Security Council? I don't suppose you have any update from them, the silence is damning."

"I'm beginning to think that Yemen isn't the only organisation wishing to adopt a defence of plausible deniability. It wasn't exactly an update," Penelope appeared reluctant and Tin-Tin saw her glance at John. "British and American forces are prepared to assist covertly."

"But …"

"I would assume the WSC as a whole is fearful of the reaction of other member-countries to the War. China has already withdrawn from the Council; I've heard anecdotal evidence that they're supporting Russia. Switzerland and Israel, amongst others, have entered in to discussions as we speak; they're both threatening to leave the World Council unless their impartiality can be guaranteed. Greece, Italy and Spain are joining the same discussions however, for different reasons; war is expensive and they simply can't afford it."

"The council will be worried that if too many countries withdraw," John's suggestion was met with several nods, "they'll lose the power they do have."

"Quite. Although it would appear that the WSC cannot or will not make contact or assist us, British and American forces are prepared to offer us a Covert Operations Team and indeed has a number of servicemen and women queued up to assist. They were quick to point out to me that they would be acting entirely independently to the WSC, thereby breaching the Treaty in place. Should …" Penelope searched for the right phrase, "things not quite go to plan, they would deny all knowledge of such an Operation."

"That's to be expected."

"They would also require full disclosure of the operatives' identities."

"Full disclosure?" John exclaimed. "Why do they need that?"

"They don't," Jeff growled again, exasperated. "They're using our situation to gain information about us, just like Templar is. Doesn't anyone have any morals anymore?"

"My understanding was that, like myself, Scott and Virgil had both signed agreements that International Rescue's anonymity should be maintained in situations like this," Penelope's sentence was designed to question the truth of what she'd said. "I told them that we'd consider it."

Jeff's attention turned to the portraits of his two eldest sons, alongside the live feed from Thunderbird Five. Suddenly, he remembered those conversations in the weeks before International Rescue went live. Contingency Planning Meetings with each of the Organisation's core agents to ensure Living Powers of Attorneys and Wills were signed and sealed, that named executors were aware of their responsibilities, and that inheritances and certain valuable personal items were left in trust. An emergency response to every dire situation possible, if the worst should happen.

"Jeff?"

Scott and Virgil, like all the others, had responded to the issue of disclosure by agreeing that International Rescue should not be compromised for their safety.

That the world needed International Rescue more than it needed Scott and Virgil Tracy.

In Jeff's mind now, in the face of one of those dire emergency situations, Scott and Virgil Tracy were a large proportion of what made International Rescue's heart beat.

"Dad?" John's voice snapped him out of it. "You okay?"

"Sorry," Jeff shook his head to clear his muddled thoughts.

"I assume you wouldn't want me to go against Scott and Virgil's express wishes?" Penelope pressed for clarification.

Jeff found expectant eyes on him from all directions.

International Rescue was hanging in the balance.

"This is different," he began. "Those documents were signed before the war. That changed everything."

Ominous silence visited Tracy Island for what felt like the umpteenth time since this dreaded rescue had commenced.

"Are you saying you'd consider disclosing their identities?" John found his voice first. "Once that information gets in to the public domain, Scott and Virgil's lives would change forever."

"I know that," Jeff tried not to snap. "But they would have lives."

"But would Scott and Virgil want to live them, Jeff?" Penelope tried to sound calm in the face of Jeff's frustration in the hope it would soothe him, despite the emotive content of their discussion.

Jeff didn't want to admit to the answer to that just yet. "If Scott and Virgil don't make it out of there alive, we're kidding ourselves if we think International Rescue won't die with them. If nothing else, we don't have the man-power to continue operations."

"I agree." Jeff was surprised when John gave a solemn nod. "Sure, we're all a part of International Rescue and we all do our part, but Scott and Virgil are the backbone. I'm not sure how we could continue without them. We also have to consider the impact the war will have on International Rescue anyway; we've already considered shutting down shop once this month. If the end of International Rescue is a strong possibility, maybe even an inevitability, then that changes things. "

Jeff was reminded of just how astute his space bound son could be.

"And that's aside from what would happen to us as a family. We've already lost Grandma, Scott and Virgil…." John swallowed thickly, unwilling to say the word dying. "It would tear us apart. Despite what everyone might think right now, they're my brothers and more than anything I want them home safe." He blinked hard, suddenly feeling very emotional.

It was the incentive Jeff needed.

"Do it, Penelope."

"Are you sure, Jeff? You know how the Intelligence Communities can be and several enquiries are still outstanding."

Jeff gave a nod. "I appreciate you're cautious, Penny, but time's running out. How quickly can they get to Tehbna?"

"An hour or two; three at the very most."

"Okay," Jeff swallowed, checking his watch and doing a very quick mental calculation. "Tell them to get their best team there ASAP. Rendezvous with them in Tehbna, by the time they arrive, The Woman's twenty four hours will be up." In full commanding mode, he looked around at those present. "If we haven't heard anything by then, we give the Covert Operations Team what they want and let them go in."

"Very well, then. I haven't managed to get in touch with Mossad yet and obviously there's no response from the WSC either officially or not, I believe they're tied up in talks with each other. I haven't had a response from the Chinese Intelligence Service either but I'll keep trying. Parker reports ETA Tehbna one hour."

"FAB, England," Jeff responded.

"Thunderbird Five, Copy that England, ETA one hour," John reeled off.

"England, out."

"I shall fetch some coffee, Mr Tracy," Kyrano got to his feet, and headed towards the kitchen without waiting for a response.

"I'll call Alan." Tin-Tin stood too. "Let him know I'm home safe."

"I'll do that, Tin-Tin," John interrupted. "Base wants all comms to go through me."

Visibly disappointed, Tin-Tin agreed. "Oh, I see. Thank you, John." She looked to Jeff. "I will assist Brains."

Jeff heaved a heavy sigh and let his head drop to his hands. "This is really it, isn't it?" he said softly. "The beginning of the end."

There was no answer to that and John wisely didn't respond. The physical distance between them had never been so tangible. There wasn't a thing John wouldn't have done to have been able to offer his father some kind of tactile comfort in the face of those words… for both their sakes.

XxxxX

Thump.

Ba-thump.

Thump.

Ba-thump.

Scott's return to consciousness came slowly and with a soundtrack. He prised his eyes open in time to see the rubber ball that had previously been stuck to his palm, bounce once against the wall and then straight into the Colonel's waiting hand.

"Welcome back."

Memory flooded over him and his breathing hitched instinctively. He looked down at his own bare chest and the trailing wires of a heart monitor attached there, before he inhaled and exhaled deeply once. Then twice. Then three times. Each breath reassuring himself that he could breathe unhindered again.

The strong smell of disinfectant had his stomach turning and he realised he was in the recovery position, head on the floor. Reaching a hand out to push himself up with the intention of rolling on to his back, he winced at the stinging around his wrist and examined the limbs closer; red, bloody and raw.

The Colonel cleared her throat. "You put up quite a fight."

Scott ignored her and reached for the electrodes.

"Leave them…" she leant forward to stop him but using a speed and strength Scott thought had long since abandoned him, he grabbed hold of her wrist. Hard.

"Don't!"

Unfortunately, his attempt to sound menacing dissolved into a coughing fit even though he tightened his hold enough to cause her discomfort. He struggled to balance his breathing against the coughing but eventually gained control and looked directly into her grimacing features. "Don't ….touch me."

"Okay," The Colonel hissed. "Okay."

Slowly, cautiously, he relaxed his grip and watched as she sat back in the most passive position she could manage; back against the wall, legs bent at the knees and feet flat on the ground. Defiantly, he pulled the electrodes from his chest surprised when she didn't protest, merely flicking a switch on the small computer to silence any alarm.

"What…" Scott cleared his throat, tender and ironically dry, "What happened?"

"Your vocal chords seized blocking the flow of air into your lungs. It can be dangerous but…"

"Is that… normal?" Scott cut her off and rubbed at his sore eyes.

"Not …. not exactly. I pushed you too hard," she admitted. "I shouldn't have allowed you to have that effect on me. It was unprofessional."

The unspoken apology hung in the air for a few moments.

"You were never in any danger," she continued. "However, I appreciate it may have been a little distressing for you …."

"A _little_ distressing?!" Scott rumbled. "Jesus, I couldn't breathe!"

"You were perfectly safe. Otherwise you wouldn't be sat here now."

Scott scoffed before dissolving into a coughing fit again.

"Here." She shuffled a little closer, offering a kidney shaped paper dish. "I don't intend to clean up after you again."

" _Again?"_

"You've been out a while. You came to just long enough to spew watery vomit all over the floor and then pass out again." Then she seemed to check herself. "How do you feel now?"

"Fine," Scott's tone was curt as he slowly got control of both his breathing and his stomach. "Isn't that the point of waterboarding?"

"Lack of physical evidence can be a benefit. I know you've got your doubts, Tracy, but I am on your side."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You left me no choice. I've interrogated enough people to know when they're going to surrender. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."

Unable to do as requested, Scott instead looked away.

"You were about to submit and I couldn't let you do that. Not with Aban there."

"So, I should be grateful that you continued to drown me when you could see I was dying?"

"You really don't see the bigger picture at all, do you? It must be so nice in your world. Everything black and white; good and evil, right and wrong; there's never any grey is there?"

"Is that what you are?" Scott's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "A grey area?"

"Don't try to understand me. I pushed you too hard, I acknowledge that, but I did what I thought was necessary. If I'd allowed you the opportunity, you'd have told us anything to make it stop and International Rescue _would be over_. " She stressed the last three words. "I had to do it. There was no alternative; surely, you must understand that."

"I guess I do." Scott pushed his thumb in to the corner of his sore eyes, rubbing at the discomfort. There was truth in her logic. He could see that.

"Aban suspected me because I went easy on your brother," she spoke again and Scott got the impression she was still rationalising her actions. "Would you rather I hadn't done that?"

"Of course not," Scott's response was instant; no thought necessary. "Do you think you've been compromised because of us?"

"No, I can talk my way out of that one easily enough." She pulled a face, shrugging off the possibility. "Aban and I have differing opinions on the objective of interrogation. We always have done. To Aban, the purpose is death and the extraction of any information along the way is an advantage."

"And to you?" Scott prompted.

"I prefer to be more civilised; the objective is to extract accurate information. Waterboarding is a difficult one; most people will tell you anything to make it stop."

"I thought …." Scott was hesitant to appear honest despite her being candid enough. The bottom line was that she'd nearly killed him. It was hard not to question her true allegiance.

"You thought you could handle it," she finished for him. "Most men do. In fact, I'm yet to meet a man who can." She shrugged a little. "I suppose it's particularly hard for a man, when it's a woman."

"I thought you were going to kill me! "

"I nearly did. You were seconds away from a cardiac arrest."

She met his eyes and held them to emphasise the gravitas of that statement.

Scott's eyebrows pulled together. "You said you were in control."

" _No,_ I said you were never in any danger," she corrected him. "I'm a professional; I'm equipped to treat medical emergencies."

"Of course you are," Scott was dismissive. He reached for his neck fingering the area where she'd injected him. "So what did you give me?"

"Diazoprodal. I think I overestimated your body weight but it's safe enough," she assured him. "You should feel no other effects now that you're coherent. It's an approved response according to the international guidelines on waterboarding."

"Guidelines?"

"World Security Guidelines state that laryngospasm lasting longer than sixty seconds should be broken through the application of muscle relaxants in the first instance," The Colonel explained in what Scott was beginning to understand was her normal cold, clinical style. "If that fails, the next step is a crike." Her eyes diverted briefly to the pen concealed at the shoulder of her shirt.

Scott was suddenly grateful things had turned out how they had. Essentially, she'd saved his life, even though she was the one responsible for putting it in peril in the first place.

"World Security Council?" He asked, changing the subject. "You work for them?"

"If that's some kind of test, it's not a fair one," The Colonel was eyeing him as if she was judging his intentions. "I can't tell you that. I trust you, Tracy, but you've admitted that you don't trust me. That's a risk I just can't afford to take."

"But you abide by their rules?"

"Everyone abides by their rules," she said. "Don't read too much in to it. The WSC are the only proper authority on developed interrogation skills with International scope. Although, technically we're not under their jurisdiction."

Scott picked up that crumb of information. "No? Where are we then?"

She smirked. "Now that's a test I can pass … … we're in the Buh Al Kabir desert, close to Qu'Lak in Yemen."

"Yemen?" Scott's expression showed his surprise.

"I did tell you Templar was not to be underestimated; Yemen will want to remain politically neutral in the war, they're reliant on Vorva to survive. The WSC has no jurisdiction here." Her eyes drew together, examining him critically. "Do you remember what happened?"

Scott shook his head.

"You were attending a rescue in Oman, a landslide caused by freak rains."

The situation flashed back to him. "I think I remember that."

"You were drugged. This crowd aren't organised enough for gas in close quarters and I can't see any obvious puncture wounds around your neck, with the exception of the one I caused myself. The neck's the most favourable area, so most probably a cloth to the nose and mouth with some form of sedative. You were brought here by vehicle by Templar's henchmen, Tehbna, Oman's about 150 miles from here. What's the first thing you do remember?"

"Waking up in that cell."

"Then you know the rest."

"Please tell me that after all this, you have a plan" He spoke softly, his throat still raw from the strain he'd been under.

"I thought you'd never ask," she grinned. "Extraction must be 2200hours. That's when the Guards swap over outside your cell. It's imperative that both details are killed; they're the only ones who have seen your faces and could confirm your identities."

There was a time when Scott wouldn't have been entirely comfortable with International Rescue being tied to the deaths of others merely to maintain secrets. But after the experiences of the last few days , he wasn't quite so uneasy.

"I've planted explosive devices around the complex on a cascade timing circuit. There's enough C8 on your cell door to blow it and cause a small explosion in the corridor outside, so make sure you're both as far away from the door as possible. I'll provide you with a map at some point tonight and keys to the white land rover clearly marked on it. Make sure you're familiar with the location," she ordered. "After the explosion, you'll only have five to ten minutes to get out of the complex and to the vehicle before the whole thing blows. The Sat Nav's pre-programmed to take you back to Tehbna and the Danger Zone. You can rendezvous there with your brothers." Scott opened his mouth to speak but she pressed on, "It's imperative you stick to the route I've prescribed. It might be the obvious but it's the fastest and getting a head start on anyone who might follow you is essential. The WSC might not have jurisdiction, but I suspect they'll have observation posts in place, anyway."

"You've spoken to Alan and Gordon?" Scott was surprised. Despite the revelations, the part that meant the most to him was his brothers.

"Err… not exactly. But I _have_ spoken to your father. Somehow, I don't think I'm on his Christmas card list. In fact, if I was a gambling person, I'd bet money that despite me asking him to do nothing, somehow he'll have managed to get your brothers to Tehbna." She paused. "Which I admit with hindsight is probably a good move as neither of you are fit to fly."

"And what did my father say?"

"Besides demanding to know who I am?" The Colonel smirked, "Not a lot really. I'll admit I was perhaps a little short with him but I was very busy at the time."

She glanced at her watch, "I need to take you back," she said, reaching for a piece of blue material which Scott belatedly realised was his shirt. "Clean yourself up and put this on," she instructed and tossed it at him. "Can you stand?"

Slowly, Scott got to his feet, wobbled a little and then steadied himself. He was surprised to see her staring at him. "I'm okay," he told her. She didn't comment as she allowed him time to dress and then secured his hands. She returned with the musty, stale hood.

Scott's stomach rolled at the thought of that oppressive claustrophobic feeling.

"It's for your own sake as much as anything else," she reminded him. "We need to minimise the amount of people who see your face. I'll put in on at the door, and remove it as soon as we reach the cell. This is _not_ negotiable."

Scott accepted what he was being told but his brow was furrowed deep. Even now, he was still trying to understand her motivations. "Answer me something," he said. "Why?"

"Why?" she queried. "I would've thought that was obvious, Templar…"

"No," Scott stopped her. "Why are you doing this? Why help us?"

"Because I believe there's a place in the world for an organisation like International Rescue."

Scott examined her expression. "It's more than that."

"You know when you put your ego to one side, you can be very perceptive. Let's just say that I've followed orders all my life even when I've known them to be …" she searched for the right phrase, "morally ambiguous."

"And all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is good men do nothing."


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

Opting not to stop for more than the odd five minute comfort break, Alan and Gordon had made it to the outskirts of a village called Mejiah in record time. The dirt track they were now following was barely travelled; only an old battered pick-up passing them, kicking up a whirlwind of dust in their faces and slowing to stare at them in amazement.

"GPS is showing we're almost at the car Penelope left us." Gordon checked his watch. "It should be just up here on the right."

Alan coughed out as the wind whipped up another dust cloud, "That just looks like dead trees to me."

Gordon swiped his hand across his forehead, his sweat gritty from the dust. Like Alan, he looked like he'd had a bad experience with Tin-Tin's foundation. But it was the least of his problems right now.

"Thirty feet," he called out, eyes now back on his watch. Alan easily kept up with his fast pace. "Three, Two…. One." He came to stop. The land was barren.

"Maybe the GPS is out," Alan suggested, removing his sunglasses, turning 360 degrees, and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Great."

Leaving Alan to disappear behind the dead trees, Gordon's attention turned to his wrist communicator. "Thunderbird Five… Thunderbird Five from…"

"Or maybe, Penelope meant _this!_ "

The next thing he knew Alan was emerging pushing a scooter with two helmets swinging from the handlebars.

"Thunderbird Five, cancel my last, out." He dropped his wrist, eyes wide with dismay. "You've got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed.

"When Penelope said vehicle; we assumed it was a car. Oh, come on, it's genius!" Alan was grinning. "Fast, easy to dispose of, manoeuvrable, lightweight …." He trailed off when he turned a helmet upside down and caught a note falling out.

"Boys," he read aloud, "Apologies for the colour scheme." Only then did Gordon notice that the white scooter had a pale pink seat and handlebars. "I'm informed this mode of transport is the most reliable in these parts, and least likely to draw attention to you both. There is a box of matches in the compartment under the seat. Parker requests you…" Alan adopted his best East-End accent, "give 'er a good send orf." He then looked to his brother, eyes sparkling with entertainment.

" _Give_ me that," Gordon took the note from him and scanned over it.

"Come on!" Alan was enthusiastic as he threw Gordon the remaining helmet, pedalled the ignition as the scooter spluttered to life. "Get on!" he shouted over the sound of the engine.

Seriously concerned at the amount of pleasure Alan was taking from this development, Gordon begrudgingly put on the helmet and slipped into the passenger position. He'd barely managed to get a decent grip before Alan opened the throttle and they were on their way.

XxxX

"Nearly there." The Colonel whispered in Scott's ear as they changed direction and rounded a corner.

 _Fifty five…Mississippi….Fifty six… Mississippi…. Fifty seven…. Mississippi… Fifty…._

Scott was relieved to hear the sound of the cell door being unbolted, finally able to abandon his mental mantra as he was led over the threshold and heard the door close behind him. Counting in his head might have been the only thing to distract him from the claustrophobic sensation of the hessian bag on his head but it had also provided the added bonus of helping him to keep his breathing even _and_ giving him a rough estimate of how long it had taken them to move around the complex.

Scott sensed the Colonel coming to stand in front of him before her hands reached for the bag. Sure enough, within seconds and as promised, it was removed. He took a few deep breaths allowing himself some time to gain his equilibrium. His eyes needed time to become accustomed to colour again, and he concentrated solely on her face. He could only imagine the concern oozing out of Virgil right now.

A flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and shaking his head, he forced himself to re-focus. Any remaining colour drained as he realised Virgil was stood against the wall with his hands on his head and Aban was holding the business end of a gun levelled at him.

The Colonel, who had been studying Scott's expression, noted the change and followed his gaze over her left shoulder.

"You have been long time," Aban began, nonchalantly. "Yes?"

The Colonel turned back to Scott just in time to place a hand on his chest to prevent him from moving forward.

"Aban, what are you doing down here?" She spoke casually, but she looked directly at Scott, trying to convey to him that he should follow her lead. She bent down to tether him to the wall, her eyes screaming at him to trust her; darting down purposefully as an indication that his should follow. He finally got it. She'd closed the shackle without locking it and Scott could see the butts of two firearms inside her waistband, both bearing the International Rescue insignia.

"Tell me, Colonel," Aban was saying. "How many men do you interrogate here?"

The Colonel's eyes remained locked with Scott's as she rose to her feet, right up until the moment she moved around to stand directly behind him. Scott's gaze then returned to his brother standing helplessly against the wall. Despite his attempts to appear collected in the face of Aban's threats, Virgil's own expression said everything. His breathing was slow and controlled, but in a way that told Scott it was taking a lot of effort to keep it that way.

"504." The Colonel responded to the question suddenly. It was preceded by the sound of a flick knife being locked in to place and the rough handling of Scott's wrists. Scott was so preoccupied interpreting every crease of Virgil's brow, that he had to think back to what Aban's question had been. He felt the cool of the blade against his skin, as the zip tie was cut and she continued to hold his hands in the same position, behind his back. He had no choice but to follow her lead and acknowledge that she was the one in the position of authority.

"And how many were successful?" Aban continued.

"504."

Scott felt one of her hands snake under his shirt and tried to control his flinch at the contrast of cold metal against his skin when the barrel of a gun was unexpectedly slipped into the waistband of his trousers. The weight of the weapon settling against the base of his back was already giving him a sense of reassurance that the playing field might be levelling out. Scott's eyes slid to Aban briefly, concerned he might realise what was happening right under his nose but Aban's attention was solely on Virgil. Scott continued with the charade when she released his hands, pulling his arms around to the front to rub at them, rotating stiff muscles and pulling on torn skin.

She moved back to stand in front of him, flicking the knife back and securing it at her own waist band.

Aban frowned and turned his head for the first time to look at them. "You do not count _these_ as failures?"

"I'm not finished with them yet, " the Colonel replied, suggesting she wasn't overly bothered. She took a few steps closer to the door, apparently un-phased by the scene leaving Scott more confused than ever. His brain worked in overdrive trying to estimate whether she'd react if he pulled the gun, whether he'd be quick enough to maim Aban before he'd put a bullet in Virgil's brain, or whether that' _s_ what the hell she was expecting him to do in the first place.

No, he couldn't take the risk. Not with his brother's life.

Aban barked out a laugh and Scott's attention returned to their interaction. "You told Kasim that he tell you nothing." He waved the gun towards Virgil and Scott's gut tensed in time with his brother's flinch.

"That's correct," the Colonel said smoothly. "But as I said, the interrogation process is not complete. I'm still limbering up. " She made her point by rolling her shoulders.

"Yet…" Aban's eyes glinted in superiority, "… you call him, 'Scott'." The words were spat out in real accusation. "How you know his name? Hmm?"

Scott winced. His whole body tensed and he looked in the Colonel's direction, hoping for guidance as to how to deal with this revelation.

The Colonel's expression remained neutral and Scott found himself experiencing the unease of waiting on someone else's orders; an unknown liability he hadn't dealt with since his Air Force days.

"Hardly meaningful information." The Colonel was shrugging off the disclosure, but something in her had changed. Something that told Scott she'd just reverted to Plan B., something that made the cold, steely glint evident in her eyes. "And any psychological or emotional reliance I've achieved over the last…"She checked her watch, "….fifteen hours, you're undoing as we speak. Are you also going to explain to Kasim that my interrogation failed because of your interference?"

"I tell Kasim everything," Aban replied, clearly of the opinion that he had fooled her. "This one has only few marks." He shook the gun in Virgil's direction once more. "And this one…" He waved the weapon briefly towards Scott. "…you safe."

"Save," she corrected his English as if it was an automatic response. "How many times must we go through this, Aban? A dead subject can tell you nothing."

Scott watched the exchange, unsure whether to be alarmed or reassured that the Colonel seemed to be taking this all in her stride. It made him realise that the ferocity of her denial when he questioned her may just have been genuine…

…or exaggerated.

"That is why we take two." Aban shuffled his feet slightly, the actions of an erratic, volatile man. He remained directly in front of Virgil. "We shoot this one, then other will talk." He raised the gun with newfound purpose, a jerkiness to his movements that told of his impulsiveness. "I will show you how interrogation should work."

"You'd be stupid to shoot him," the Colonel replied.

Her hand moved to her waist.

Scott swallowed. Was she readying herself to act? Was she trying to tell him to be ready too? His arm remained by his side, but he readied himself too. If she did, his next move would be for the weapon concealed behind his back.

"He's the weaker of the two," she continued, justifying herself. "Therefore the most likely to talk. The other one is stronger-willed and we've already established his desire to protect his colleague. Take that motivation away and you have no power." She took a few steps forward, slowly and methodically, skirting around Aban; eyes showing no apparent concern, only control and perspicacity. It was as if she was calculating every step. The proverbial fly in the spider's web.

"No psychological bargaining chip to exchange for information," she continued.

Another step. She moved her head slightly to one side as if lining up her position to ensure she was exactly where she wanted to be.

"Not to mention the fact you'd be reducing your source information by fifty percent." She managed a tight smirk. "I'd like to see you explain _that_ one to Kasim."

Aban seemed to think about this for a second.

"You are woman," he eventually pointed out. "Kasim would never trust woman over man."

"Really?" She appeared genuinely amused by the concept. "Ask yourself who he trusts to interrogate his most important prisoners, Aban: you or me? Let's be realistic, who do you think he's going to believe?"

Aban's vision moved erratically between the Colonel and Virgil, a frown crossing his face but his eyes held renewed comprehension.

"I understand," he said, apparently now aware that he'd underestimated her power.

His finger moved to the trigger casing.

"Drop the gun, Aban."

Scott was so intent on watching Virgil, that it was only the click of the safety catch being removed on the Colonel's weapon that alerted him to the fact she'd actually drawn it. Although he had no idea when, her stance had changed. Her shoulders were taut, her elbow raised outwards and whether he liked it or not, her eyes were metallic like steel marbles.

"Drop … the …. gun," she ordered a second time.

Aban chortled out a hollow laugh, "I die here," he declared aloud. His thumb moved to the safety catch of his own weapon.

"No!" Scott cried out as he took a step forward, his own weapon now raised in one hand and the other held out level, a conciliatory palm up.

"Don't shoot!" the Colonel ordered.

"Nobody shoot!" Scott repeated, his eyes flickering right, centre and left between the Colonel, Aban and Virgil.

"I'll kill you, Aban. You know I will," the Colonel threatened. "Do as I say, drop the weapon."

Aban gave one last smirk and scoffed a laugh so deep it almost caused his chest to shudder. "You are traitor to us," he told her. "You kill me anyway."

It happened so slowly, Scott could see every little detail with such precision. It was as if his brain picked up the pace as time decelerated; processing the tiniest of movements and chiselling them forever into his mind to leave an ugly scar on his memory.

Aban's head turned towards Virgil, the pad of his thumb flattened with the pressure he put on the safety catch. His arm tensed. The lines of his mouth and jaw were taut with anger and hatred, but his whole body carried an air of acceptance. As if he recognised this was his fate.

Virgil was staring hard at him, not the barrel of the gun or his hand, or his forehead but directly into the ice cold eyes of the man who was about to kill him. To his credit he didn't waver until the very last moment when his eyes flickered to Scott. A second was all Scott needed to see the sheer terror. A second of absolute horror when he realised what his brother was trying to tell him: goodbye.

The click of the safety releasing was quiet.

The gunfire was not.

There was a second of absolute silence as smoke and chemicals mixed and exchanged reactions in the air. Aban's body convulsed where he'd been stood, head snapped backwards at an awkward angle. Gravity pulled the gun in his hands to the floor with a clatter, to be followed only seconds afterwards with the thud of his body.

The Colonel moved forward, gun still raised and levelled at Aban as if it he might rise again. Kicking away the firearm she knelt down close to where blood was already pooling.

"Virgil!" Scott's hands might have been working to secure his weapon but his attention was diverted towards his brother. "Virgil," he repeated, "You okay?"

Numb, Virgil allowed himself to collapse back against the wall, offering a shaky nod.

"Yeah," he croaked out, barely above a whisper. Talking forced him to breathe again and he gasped as his body started to react. "Yeah, I'm … okay," he replied, convincing himself as he balled his fists and then flexed his fingers, as if shaking off pins and needles.

Scott was already turning his attention to the Colonel, who was wiping her hand on her trousers to clean off the blood. He found himself levelling his weapon at her now; brain working in overdrive to consider whether this was his opportunity, whether now was the time to get out of this living hell.

"He's dead," the Colonel confirmed, rising from her position on the floor. "Great. _Now_ what?"

" _Now_ you get us out of here," Scott growled out.

For the first time, she turned to face him and realised his position.

"For God's sake!" She had the audacity to roll her eyes but didn't seem the least bit bothered about having a gun waved in her face. "Put it away before Templar gets in here."

Scott showed no such inclination.

"You're not serious? Be sensible! What are you going to do, hmm? Make a run for it? Where's the nearest exit? Do you even know which way to turn out that door? Or how many rounds are left in that pistol?"

Scott had to admit he hadn't considered most of those things, which told him a great deal about his own state of mind. And his chances of success.

"You're not thinking straight." She was continuing almost like she'd read his mind. "That's understandable given the circumstances. I will help you but for God's sake you have to trust me." She took a step closer.

"Don't," Scott warned. He didn't lower the weapon.

"Scott…" Virgil tried to interrupt.

"This is our chance to get the hell out of here. We might not get another one."

"You would if you'd just trust me. I _can_ get you out of here, but you have to do what I tell you. An escape bid now would be suicide; don't you think we've got enough to contend with the dead body you've just put on the floor?"

" _I_ put on the floor?" Scott exclaimed. "I told you not to shoot!"

"Scott…" Virgil tried a second time.

"He was going to fire!" The Colonel defended herself. "It was him or your brother. And may I remind you that you fired too!"

"Only because _you_ did!" Scott returned, shaking the gun to emphasis his point.

"Scott…." Virgil tried again.

"You were going to kill him anyway," Scott accused her. "As soon as you realised he could blow your damned cover!"

"Sc- Scott…"

It wasn't so much his name that got his attention but the way it was stuttered out, accompanied by the slightest of moans.

Scott pivoted on his heel, all thoughts of escape instantly forgotten as he was met with pain-filled eyes, wide with shock and unrestrained panic.

He froze and the world according to Scott Tracy stood still on its axle.

It lasted no more than thirty seconds but felt more like thirty minutes. Scott's eyes reflected his brother's horror and then followed Virgil's line of sight down his own body.

"No," Scott felt the blood drain from his face. He was already whispering in denial. "No, _No_!" His legs were moving him towards his brother, his brain putting the pieces of the puzzle together far too slowly.

Virgil's face, pale but sweat streaked.

Virgil's hands, clamped tight against his abdomen.

Virgil's shirt, darkening to crimson as the small patch grew rapidly to soak up the claret.

And, Virgil's fingers, covered with the blood oozing from between them.

"I think …. I think I'm hit."


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

"Go ahead, England." Jeff reached for the desk controls. "Sorry, Penny, I know you wanted to talk to me but I've been waiting for calls and I didn't want to jam up the air waves."

"I take it you're alone now?" Penelope's softer tones floated through the Tracy Villa.

"I am, yes," Jeff confirmed. "What is it?"

"I believe there may be something fishy going on here, Jeff. I've been thinking about the WSC…"

"Me too," he interrupted.

"It doesn't add up," Penelope pointed out. "The WSC has gone to great lengths to legitimately hold Kasim Tamplar in custody, so I'm surprised they would collaboratively agree to letting him go again. He has proven himself to be a difficult man to hunt down; the risk of losing him, coupled with the risk to the public is just far too great for any organisation to carry. In addition to all this, Kasim Tamplar was due to be tried at the International Criminal Court; hailed as one of their great successes. It would have been a landmark case, setting precedent for future acts of terrorism." She paused for gravitas. "There would have been unfathomable political implications. This was an ideal opportunity for the WSC to show the world that International Terrorists could be brought to justice and successfully held accountable for their crimes. Letting Kasim Tamplar go, even as an Intelligence asset under close surveillance; is a risky move to make. I just can't believe that the WSC could meet a conclusion whereby every country representative could believe that was proportionate and justified in their own respective legal systems."

"I agree. I got the impression you were sceptical too." Jeff explained further. "John raised a few points about how the World Security Council came to agree on this action without descending into a power struggle amongst the member-countries."

"Precisely. All the intelligence we have is from third party sources, none of it we can corroborate and we have nothing direct from any of my sources at the Council. I'm inclined to believe there's a reason for that, Jeff." Penelope looked uncomfortable with the situation. "Lady Catherine Allgaurd is the legal advisor to the Elected Representative from Westminster. I have tea with her on the third Monday of the month, which happened to be last Monday. She mentioned nothing of this ploy. I find it highly irregular that she would be a part of it, knowing she is a woman of integrity, but even more anomalous is the fact that she never knows when to keep her opinions to herself." The more Penelope went on, the more it appeared she had convinced herself and was gathering impetus. "It's improbable that she would be ignorant of such an operation and I find it highly unlikely that she would fail to mention it to me, particularly when she takes so much glee in reminding me of the career I turned my back on. Therefore, the only conclusion is that she _didn't_ know about it."

"Maybe she didn't. Maybe your sources aren't as good as they used to be, Penny." He attempted to soften the blow. "That's not a reflection on you."

"I'm afraid that's exactly what it is, Jeff." Penelope refuted the rebuke with her usual grace. "I can tell you what most world leaders had for breakfast this morning. The information flow is still there and still accurate. My source network is working. That is _not_ the problem."

"Then what are you saying? That this Lady Catherine's not as irritating as you first thought?" If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, Jeff thought he would actually find the idea of someone rubbing Penelope up the wrong way a little amusing.

"I fear we may be being led up the garden path," Penelope declared. "It's not just Lady Catherine. We have an agent who handles the physical security of the WSC in Luxembourg. I have sources in all the most prominent International Intelligence Organisations and several at and around the WSC. I haven't heard a sniff of this. It's most irregular. My sources are usually pre-emptive and exceptionally good. There is more to this than meets the eye, Jeff."

"Hmm, the CIA has been mentioned," Jeff rubbed pensively at his chin, deep in thought. When his eyes met Penelope's again, they glinted with familiar shrewdness; the shrewdness that had made him a very wealthy man. "My government? Or, yours?"

"I'm not sure," Penelope was equally as perceptive. "Possibly both."

XxxxX

 _"_ _I think…. I think I'm hit."_

Scott moved forward at the same time Virgil's legs crumpled and he began to slide towards the floor. The shackle at his ankle hindered him at first, and it took several good tugs before it pinged open. By the time he'd made it across the room to his brother, Virgil was slumped half way down the wall.

"It's okay," he consoled, for his benefit as much as Virgil's. "I've got you." He moved to take Virgil's weight, grasping his arms. "Lie down, take it easy."

"Wait!" the Colonel ordered.

Scott did as he was told; he froze.

She manoeuvred her way around him, dropping to her knees to push away the upper half of Virgil's clothing. Her hands skimmed over him, covering every inch with a practiced ease. Finally, she looked over at Scott, all business and no animosity. She shook her head. There was no exit wound.

Virgil's breath came in hot gasps against Scott's ear as he resumed lowering him gently down towards the floor. His eyes roved towards the damage, but the Colonel's hands were already pulling Virgil's away.

"Let me see," she was demanding.

"Deep breaths, Virg," Scott remained in his brother's line of sight, hoping to distract him from the pain and focus him. "You're doing great."

Scott was just in time to see the Colonel pull Virgil's bloodied hands away to examine the wound. Far too quickly, she was pushing them back again, now with the added force of her own.

Virgil groaned and rolled his head away.

"Talk to me, Virg," Scott insisted.

"M'o… M'okay ..Feels…s'burnin'," Virgil stuttered out.

"It's the combination of the bullet and the blood." The Colonel glanced towards the door a little ominously. "The residual heat of the bullet is higher than body temperature so when it enters the body it's often described as a warm sensation, concurrently blood leaves the body and cools in the air." She met Scott's horrified gaze. Virgil lay between them looking equally disturbed. Reaching over, she grasped Scott's hand and pushed it hard against the wound, releasing her own. "Keep the pressure on." Then she stood, wiped her hands on her trousers and turned away from them.

"What are you doing?" Scott demanded, incredulous.

"Any minute now this place is going to be crawling with guards. With all that gunfire, I'm surprised they're not in here already!"

Scott couldn't care less. His full attention was on his injured brother.

"S'bad?" Virgil mumbled. "How bad?"

"No," Scott reassured him. "It's going to be okay." But he sent the Colonel a pointed look.

The Colonel got the message. "Aban never could shoot straight," she shrugged as she knelt next to Aban's body and began searching with the same efficiency she'd showed earlier; rummaging through his pockets, glancing briefly through a wallet and pocketing paperwork. "It's just a scratch," she lied, raising an amused eyebrow at a flick-knife she'd found and concealing it at her ankle.

"Doesn't feel… like a …. scratch." The fact that Virgil was now forming sentences was reassuring for Scott. He opened his mouth to reply but the sound of footsteps outside the cell diverted his attention.

"Someone's coming!" The Colonel took a step back, sending Scott's discarded ankle chain skidding across the floor. "Be quiet!"

She then proceeded to aim her weapon directly at them.

There was no time to query her as the door burst open and Kasim bustled in, weapon at the ready.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Aban was in here when I returned from my Interrogation," the Colonel lied smoothly. "He was a traitor to you, Kasim. He was attempting to free them. I had no choice; I killed him."

Kasim's calculating gaze went from Aban's body to where Scott's hands still tried to stem the blood from Virgil's gut. "And _him?"_

"He tried to escape."

For a second it looked like Kasim might question her further and Scott's breath hitched, muscles tensed in anticipation.

"This could work in our favour, Kasim." The Colonel was changing tack. "His injuries will act as leverage."

Kasim's eyes narrowed and he scrutinised her enough to make Scott think he may not believe a word she'd just said. The pregnant pause seemed to go on for an eternity but then he nodded slowly in agreement.

"This is good," he agreed, stroking his beard a few times, lip curling to reveal tobacco-stained teeth. "You have 24 hours," he told the Colonel. His lips widened further into a sardonic grin as he stalked from the room.

Kasim could be heard shouting in a foreign language outside and before long two guards entered, hauled Aban's body to the door and manhandled the corpse outside.

Once the door slammed closed a second time, Scott sagged in relief, aware that the Colonel's shoulders had also dropped with a similar sentiment and that she was placing the weapon back at her thigh.

"That was close," she breathed out.

Scott realised his discarded weapon was still close to Virgil's thigh. Thank god Kasim hadn't noticed. "Yeah…" he trailed off when he realised she was walking away from them, towards the door. "Where are you going?"

When she blatantly ignored him, he pushed Virgil's hand against the wound, encouraging him to keep it there and stood, hastily crossing the cell to cut her off.

"You have to get us out of here." His demand clashed with the slap of soft flesh on hard surface as he slammed his hand against the door. Leaving behind a handprint in Virgil's blood.

"Five minutes ago, you seemed to think you could handle that yourself."

"And you said we had to trust you. Now, I'm trusting you."

"No, now you've realised I was right. Trust would have been dropping the weapon you were waving in my face."

"Fine!" Scott exclaimed. "What do you want me to say? That it was a stupid thing to do? It's not even important anymore. This changes _everything."_

"It changes nothing." She glared at him for a moment, cold and indifferent. "I can't jeopardise a three year operation for the sake of one man. We're lucky Kasim isn't changing the guard detail. Stick to the plan." She glanced at her watch. "In eight hours…"

"Eight hours!" Scott spat, his voice tinged with gut wrenching fear. He saw the Colonel look to Virgil, and adopted a quieter tone but no less urgent. "We both know he hasn't got eight hours."

"It's a low velocity wound, I could feel the bullet; it's not that deep. If it had hit anything major he'd have bled to death by now. It's probably plugging the damage. With a bit of luck the bleeding will stop…"

"A bit of luck!" Scott hissed out.

"It's a slow bleed," she re-iterated, ignoring his outburst.

"Not _that_ slow. We need to move sooner."

"We can't." the Colonel stressed. "I've told you, the extraction must be at 2200 to ensure both sets of guards…"

"Screw your plan!" Scott fumed. "He's going to bleed to death!"

"My hands are tied. I suggest you concentrate your efforts on making him as comfortable as you can. If there was something more I could do, I would."

"If this is because of me …" Scott could hear the desperation is own voice. Normally he would've hated it but right now, he didn't care what he had to do to save Virgil's life. "...punish me but don't let him suffer."

"It's not you," she assured him. "You were right. I should have expected you to disregard the risk and make some kind of stupid attempt to escape even though it was blatantly obvious you'd never succeed."

A few moments of silence passed.

Scott broke it. "Okay, listen." He swallowed, attempting a different approach. "Your cover's blown now. If Aban worked it out, it won't be long before Templar realises too. That's if he hasn't told him already."

"I can pull it back," The Colonel assured him with confidence. "I only have to hold out another eight hours." Before Scott could state his case, she lowered her voice to explain further. "I'm not here to help you, that's an added bonus. I have a job to do, a job I can't compromise for the sake of one man. The success of this operation could save thousands of lives."

"So could _he_!" He whispered back.

"You know what…"

"Look, I'll do whatever it takes." Scott realised he was running out of options. "You know I will. He doesn't deserve to die like this."

"It's very unfortunate."

 _"_ Unfortunate!"

The situation took a further slip out of Scott's control when she pulled open the door, despite his hand resting against it.

"Your brother needs you," she said. "Go to him."

The door shut with less force than normal and Scott leant his forehead against the cool metal as it was bolted in to place on the other side.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Found a neutral expression; Virgil didn't need to know the truth of the matter.

"Virg?" He moved to kneel close by his brother. "We're going to get you out of here."

XxxX

There had been many times over the last eight years when Jeff Tracy had found himself alone, questioning what kind of undue influence he'd had on his sons' decisions to take an idea like International Rescue forward. Never more so than now.

Virgil and John, as expected, had clearly been uncomfortable with the idea of war from the outset. Jeff had made the ultimate decision to carry on operations until such a time as they all agreed on a course of action, hoping to give his sons time to come around, in the hope they would accept it and International Rescue would continue. Now, Jeff was wondering if he should have taken heed of the points John and Virgil had raised.

In short, he blamed himself.

"Coffee, Mr Tracy?" Tin-Tin was suddenly at his side as if she'd materialised out of thin air.

He found himself staring at her in surprise.

"Father sent these coconut cakes too." She either hadn't noticed his reaction or had chosen to ignore it. "He knows they're your favourite." She laid out the coffee and the plate on his desk. All of a sudden, she looked at him seriously. "You must keep your strength up, for Scott and Virgil."

Jeff doubted she meant the cake and as she headed back towards the kitchen, he realised Tin-Tin had learned a lot about the Tracy men under his mother's tutelage. Half-heartedly he reached for the mug of coffee. He couldn't stomach the cake; the churning nausea telling him that there was a fair chance he'd see it again if he tried.

The mug was already halfway back to his desk in unrestrained disgust, when John's portrait began to flash.

"Base, Base from Thunderbird Five."

John's voice; Jeff knew immediately from just the tone that something was wrong.

"Go ahead, Thunderbird Five. Reading you five by five." His eyes travelled over his son's appearance, gleaning whatever he could from every tired, nervous muscle.

"I've had an update from the woman." John was clearly apprehensive.

"What is it, John?" Jeff gulped, John's anxieties feeding his own.

"She's now requested medical assistance at the RV."

Jeff's heart plummeted. That had been the only saving grace so far, a beacon of hope in the dark reality to cling on to. Suddenly extinguished.

"Scott or Virgil?" Jeff pulled his lips together to graze with his teeth. "How bad?" He was firing out questions as they fought their way into his conscience from the muddled terror that had become his thoughts. "Are they moving sooner? When's she going to have them out? Do they need a trauma centre?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Jeff realised as soon as the snapped words left his mouth, he was taking his frustrations out on the wrong person. He held a shaky hand up. "I'm sorry, John," he reigned it back. "I'm sorry."

"I don't know any more," John continued, professional to the last. "She requested medical assistance at the rendezvous. I tried to question her but she disconnected. She didn't say who was hurt or how bad."

Jeff let out a deep controlled breath. "Okay," he tried to calm himself. "Okay," he repeated. "Where's the nearest Emergency Centre?"

John was already reading information off screens. "The nearest would be in Yemen or Oman, but neither are equipped to deal with major trauma. We have more equipment in Thunderbird Two's Infirmary." He glanced away from the screen and then back again. "We don't have medically trained agents in Yemen or Oman…"

Jeff was nodding, taking this information in and starting to take notes.

"But… I've done a quick check and I've found one of agents who might be able to offer some support; Thomas Jackson, Dr Thomas Jackson. He was our Victorian representative in Australia but he took a six month sabbatical to be part of an Aid Mission in Somalia. He's still got a communications kit and he's probably the closest." John was reading as he was talking. "Aside from that, I guess the next nearest would be southern Europe."

"What about Military air bases? There must be something closer than Europe."

"There is," John nodded, "But they're all WSC Bases and if they're not willing to offer us any assistance…"

"Leave that with me, John," Jeff's tone was suddenly hard. "Get on to Dr Jackson and see if he's willing to assist. Did the woman say anything about the time frame?"

"No, I'm assuming whatever the injuries are, they can't be that serious. Otherwise, they'd have to change the plan and bring it forward."

"They're serious enough to request medical assistance," Jeff said flatly. "If Dr Jackson's willing to assist, make arrangements to get him to Tehbna."

"FAB," John replied. "Thunderbird Five, Out."

John's image winked away and Jeff was left alone at his desk once more. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognised that the call he was about to make had the potential to make a lot of enemies for International Rescue.

"Brains," he used the in-house intercom. "Can you get me a secure line in to the World Security Council Defence Chamber?"

"That would in-involve bypassing, ah, n-normal procedures, Mr T-Tracy," Brains stuttered back. "We'd need to err, hack in via, ah, Th-Thunderbird Five's systems to, ah, en-ensure our an-an-anonymity."

"I'm aware of that." An ice cold tone that told of his resolve. "Can you do it?"

There was hesitation.

"Yes, sir."

XxxX

Virgil gritted his teeth and held back a breath to prevent himself whimpering as Scott withdrew the torn strip of shirt they were now using to stem the bleeding. Designed to be stain and water resistant, even that was soaked right through. Blood always looked worse than it was Scott told himself.

"How s'it lookin'?" Virgil ground out, straining to raise his head to see for himself.

Scott moved a hand to his brother's shoulder, firmly pushing Virgil down. "Lie still." He couldn't hide his dismay as the wound still oozed, blood slipping through his fingers along with Virgil's chances of survival.

"Still bleeding?" Virgil's voice was a mere whisper.

"No," Scott swallowed and avoided eye contact.

"Liar," Virgil's accusation held no malice but it cleared up any confusion that his brother didn't fully understand the severity of the situation.

Scott turned his head away for a moment to compose himself. "Just a little," he said when he turned back.

"You don't have to do that," Virgil spoke softly. "I've had too many close…" he breathed in a haggard breath and then tried to let it out slowly, "calls to be afraid of dying, Scott."

"I meant what I said. I'm going to get you out of here."

"Don't make promises …. you can't keep. We both know … you'll beat yourself up about it … later."

Scott was silent, unable to deny it.

Virgil attempted to move to make himself more comfortable and then groaned as the hole in his abdomen protested.

"Don't move," Scott reprimanded as he moved a hand to re-apply pressure against Virgil's chest.

"So, distract me," Virgil screwed his face up against the pain. "Tell me…" he gasped, "…the plan."

Scott settled down alongside him, leaning against the wall. "She says that we need to blow the doors at ten o'clock. That's when the guard changes." It was the most prominent thing in his mind. "I say we need to move sooner."

"Doors?" Virgil queried.

Scott was confused. Then he realised that in he'd become preoccupied with his frustration, and as a result, he hadn't exactly been clear.

"That one," he pointed to the cell door. "It's wired. She's going to blow it at 2200 when the guard changes to make sure it takes out both sets. After that, the whole place is going to blow bit by bit. We'll have approximately ten minutes to get out. She's going to pass us a map and some keys to a truck. Or, at least she was before I waved a gun in her face." He let his head fall backwards against the wall with a thud and rubbed hard at his sore eyes.

"You did what… you thought was … best." Virgil, even hurt, was trying to console him.

"She was right." The unspoken, 'and I didn't even realise you were hurt' hung in the air. "I wasn't thinking straight. This is so screwed up, I just ... All I could think about was getting out of here. Getting us both out of here." He swallowed hard. "I lost it and if she doesn't come back, it's on me, Virg."

"She will." Virgil the ever-faithful.

"I'll never forgive myself."

"What did … she do to you?" Virgil breathed. "You're o… okay, right?"

Scott was incredulous. Virgil's life was slowly slipping away and he was worried about _him_?

"I'm fine," he said. "She didn't do anything." Virgil didn't need the extra worry right now.

"Is this … part of … her mission," Virgil took another shallow breath, "Do you … think? Faking…. It?"

Scott tried to ignore his brother's breathing, reminded too many of times of rescue victims whose breath had come in those rapid, harsh gasps, right before it hadn't come at all. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't care so long as she sticks to her stupid plan to gets us both the hell out of here."

Virgil didn't comment for a full five minutes.

"Scott?" He finally summoned up the energy. "It's going to take me…. ten minutes to …. get to that door. Let alone … out of here."

Scott dismissed him. "I'll help you."

It was a tone Virgil had heard throughout his whole life, inherited from their father; one not to be questioned.

"Scott…"

"I'll damn well carry you if I have to," Scott spoke over him.

"Scott…."

"Don't say it. Don't you _dare_ say it."

"Scott," Virgil reached a hand to touch Scott's forearm and then gave as much of a squeeze as he could. "Please be reasonable."

Scot shook his head.

"I can't do it, Virg, so please don't ask me. You know I'd never leave you."

Virgil gave him a look that told him, had their situations been reversed, his response would be exactly the same.

"Dad's probably having…" Virgil shivered again, more audible this time, "…a nervous breakdown by now. He won't … cope if … we both die."

"Stop it, Virgil; no-one's going to die."

They'd come full circle now and Scott's resolution remained just as strong.

Virgil allowed his eyes to close, initially in resignation but there was more than a touch of fatigue there too.

Another shiver ran through him.

Scott's jaw muscles twitched with the effort it was taking not to take his frustration out on the wall as he witnessed it. Virgil had medical training too and it angered him that his brother didn't have the benefit of blissful ignorance. He knew what was coming. Worse still… he was accepting it.

"Must … be… one hell… of a… scratch," Virgil's chest shuddered and Scott wasn't sure if it was a shiver, a breath or a chuckle.

Scott supposed he should take some comfort from the fact that Virgil still appeared to be compos mentis but on reflection, he realised this was probably the most effective form of torture they'd experienced yet.

"You sure…. You're …. okay?"

Virgil pulled him from his thoughts. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore his brother's haggard breathing.

"I'm fine." He found the courage. "It's just this desert air. I'm thinking I'm going to steer clear of the desert after all this. First I get shot down, then Brains gets buried neck down in the sand, and now this." He tried to laugh at himself.

It rang hollow.

"Good," Virgil's eyes had slipped closed again but he pried them open. "'Cos' … you c'n't…. carry … me out…of here, if you're…. hurt …. too."

Suddenly Scott found himself looking into his brother's brown eyes, with the crystal clarity that neither of them was fooling the other any longer. If he wanted to believe he was going to get them both out of this hellhole, if it helped him to accept what was happening, Virgil was prepared to let him believe it.

It no longer mattered.

By the time the clock ticked around to 2200, Virgil would be dead.


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

"Jeez," Gordon gave a low whistle as he and Alan entered Thunderbird Two's service hatch. "I thought that guy was never going to leave."

He keyed in a code and lowered his face to the iris scanner as Alan chuckled.

"I know, right? Give the guy an International Rescue badge and he thinks he's saving the world. I was half expecting him to rip open that shirt and…"

Alan was cut off as Gordon suddenly raised a hand. They both listened to the sound of muffled voices on the other side of the reinforced steel.

"John should have been alerted to any intruders," Alan whispered.

"Shhh..." Gordon's hand moved to his sidearm.

"H'I wouldn't suggest h'otherwise, M'Lady."

Gordon immediately relaxed as he recognised the voice, even if it was a little contrite.

"I am telling you, Parker, I am quite familiar with this system, thank you very much."

Another voice Gordon was familiar with, even if this one was slightly irate.

"I'm doing everything in accordance with John's instructions."

At Gordon's press, the doors swung open to reveal Lady Penelope and Parker standing by the entrance door to Thunderbird Two's cockpit, deep in debate. The computerised banner above Parker's cap clearly flashed the words: _Access Denied._

"Problem, Lady Penelope?"

"Gordon!" she pivoted elegantly and walked over to them. "No, no. I've never liked these biometrics readers. I did mention it to Brains at the time but …." She trailed off. "You're earlier than expected."

"That scooter was a good call; we made great time. Hey, Parker! We gave her a good send-off." Alan grinned in Parker's direction.

Unfortunately, Parker was distracted, entering a code into the biometrics reader on the door and then following through with his palm.

"Yeah, we just wasted about a half hour convincing the Agent outside we're bone fide operatives."

"Ahh." Penelope's blonde head nodded. "Mr Ross, yes. A very thorough man. I remember hiring him. Did you know he was the original …"

"Please proceed." The automated female voice chimed out, halting Penelope mid-flow.

"Well, I'll be…" she muttered. "Parker, how on earth did you do that?"

Parker just smiled ruefully, "H'It's h'a knack, M'Lady."

She nodded her gratitude as she walked passed him on to the flight deck, weapon at the ready. Alan followed her lead but Gordon sidled up to Parker. "Trouble with the biometrics?"

"It's that 'andcream of 'ers," Parker removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Plays 'avoc with the Security System at 'ome but she won't 'av it."

Gordon smirked as together, they followed Penelope and Alan.

"We've swept the entire craft, and found no evidence of any intruder or a struggle," Penelope was saying to John. "CCTV and imaging measures all seem tamper free."

"Okay."

Gordon noted his brother looked tense. Perhaps tense was the wrong word, everyone was tense, but this time he seemed even more stressed than before.

"What about external checks?"

"Yes, we've completed those," she said. "Unfortunately, there's been more rain here so any tyre marks have been eradicated. There's also been a lot of foot traffic and a few vehicles where the forces guarding the craft have changed over. We did find two sets of grooves which, in my experience, would be consistent with the dragging of a body." She realised what she'd just said as the atmosphere changed and quickly corrected herself: "Or person. It's impossible to be sure with the rain, any clues have been washed away I'm afraid."

"What's this?" Alan picked up a discarded, unsealed evidence bag, from the seat.

"Don't…" Penelope's warning was too late as Alan opened the bag and started to wobble where he stood, having inhaled the fumes. Gordon closed the distance between them in an easy stride and pushed his brother down on to a passenger seat, hand on top of his blond hair pushing his head down low.

"Whoa," Alan's pupils were large but already starting to correct themselves the more oxygen diluted the effects. Gordon took the bag, sealed it and discarded.

"Take a few deep breaths, Al," he instructed.

"That's strong stuff," Alan cleared his throat and rolled his tongue in front of this teeth. "Tastes of… Melon. Yuk. What is that?"

Penelope looked back to John. "We found it under the port wing, no CCTV coverage and hidden from satellite imagery. They were either very good or very lucky. We believe it to be Tetrochloride Acetate."

"Nasty," John murmured, acutely aware of the less than palatable use for the drug in date rape.

Gordon opened his mouth to comment but one look from John was enough for him to close it again.

"You think they were drugged, Penelope?"

"I think it would be a safe assumption. We haven't started a sweep of Thunderbird One yet. I didn't think it wise to separate."

John was nodding, "I agree. Perhaps you could do that now. But before you go there's something you should all be aware of."

The occupants on the flight deck all turned to face him with varying degrees of masked unease.

"The Woman's been in contact. She's requested medical assistance at the RV." John raised a hand to prevent the barrage of questions he knew would come his way. "We don't know any more. I've found an agent who's a doctor and he's willing to help. Trouble is he's on an aid mission in Somalia. Once you've checked over One Al, he needs a ride. I've already pre-programmed the co-ords. Obviously, we don't know how serious it is but I think he'd be more use than anything Yemen or Oman have got to offer."

"FAB."

"Penelope, you have about an hour and a half hour before the Covert Ops Team is with you. Dad's asked that you put together a brief for them and chase up Mossad and your contact in China," John relayed.

"I will call them again," she said and then paused to study him carefully. "How was your father, John?"

"He's…" John suffered a bout of hesitation. "I don't know, Penny … he's like the rest of us, I guess, distraught but doing his best to get on with the job."

Penelope nodded, unable to offer any other words of comfort.

"John…" Gordon began.

"I don't know any more, Gordon, I swear," John spoke over him. "If I hear anything else, I'll let you know. Thunderbird Five out."

Reminded of the gravitas of the situation, the previously cheery mood on the flight deck was now long gone and forgotten.

XxxxX

Virgil's eyes had closed long ago and Scott had relented in pestering his brother to remain conscious. Although there was a part of him which selfishly wanted Virgil to remain awake, Scott knew he had to consider that it would probably be best for his brother if he just drifted off to sleep.

The bolts on the door clanged open and Scott startled. His hopes were lifted when Virgil grumbled too at the sudden jostling.

"Easy," Scott whispered. "Someone's coming." He reached one hand to his hip where his weapon was concealed but he let his hand move back to its original position when the Colonel materialised.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come back," he said.

"Neither was I." Her reply was to Scott but her eyes never left Virgil "Yet here I am."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"I have a copy of the prints for the facility." The Colonel came to stand beside him and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. "I've marked where you are here." She unfolded it on the floor and knelt down to point to an X. "The vehicle is here. I haven't had a chance to fetch the keys but they're on top of the nearside front tyre." She pointed to another X. "You'll need to follow this corridor, turn right here and then follow this corridor to the end. This wall backs onto the outside of the complex. There' s a large mould of timed C16 on it so that should blow a decent sized hole for you to get through." Her finger ran along the line, following the path and tapped a few times on the point of exit.

Scott nodded, taking in her instructions and carefully studying the map, "Okay."

Delving into the other pocket of her combat trousers, The Colonel pulled out medical equipment and deposited it on the floor; syringes and bottles.

"Napraxomorph," she said, "It will help with the pain," Scott reached out to pick up the syringe but she stopped him with a hand to his wrist. "That's all I've got."

Scott examined it closer, "Only one shot."

"You might want to save it for later," she suggested.

Scott turned his attention to the other items.

"Medicone," she announced holding up another syringe. "Think expanding foam meets silicone. You'll need to get as close as you can to the bullet without moving it in order to get a good seal. We need to stop the bleeding, not allow it to gather in his abdominal cavity. Then pack the wound but not so much as to put pressure on his internal organs or …"

"I know what Medicone is," Scott interrupted with a snap.

"Then, what are you waiting for?"

The Colonel readied the syringe and held it out to him over Virgil's closed eyes.

Scott looked at her and then the syringe, suddenly hit by the realisation that his next move could either save Virgil's life or end it. Even a millimetre out would cause his brother untold pain. Not enough pressure meant Virgil could bleed to death internally. Too much pressure meant that the bullet would move further on its path of destruction and into Virgil's gut.

His hesitation spoke volumes.

"I …."

"Actually, it'd probably be best if I did it." The Colonel didn't force him to vocalise his uncertainties. "You're stronger and can hold him down. Is he conscious?"

Virgil didn't bother to move. "Just …. resting …. my eyes," he whispered out.

The Colonel gave a sharp nod, encouraging Scott to take position.

"Virg…" He cleared his throat eyeing the single shot of painkiller with remorse. "This is going to hurt like hell, but I need you to try to stay as still as you can, okay?"

"Mmm," Virgil mumbled.

Scott took his brother's wrists in his hands and applied his full body weight to hold Virgil down. He craned his neck to see the Colonel peeling away the blood soaked material around the wound and felt Virgil wince at her touch.

"Okay," the Colonel announced. "On three. One, two…" and with that she moved.

Virgil tensed, groaning with the effort not to scream out and instinctively pushing against Scott's constraints.

"Almost over, Virg," Scott was coaxing despite the Colonel's thumb pushing the syrup like substance into his brother's abdomen at a tediously slow speed. "You're doing great."

After what felt like an eternity of Virgil struggling to keep quiet, his eyes rolled and the tense muscles in his neck finally gave out.

Scott's reaction was only just quick enough to prevent Virgil's head from hitting the floor.

"Virgil?" Despite knowing that his brother had passed out, Scott was alarmed. "Virg?"

He flinched as the Colonel placed a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even realised she'd finished.

"He's out," she said. "The pain was too much. I'm impressed he lasted as long as he did." She pulled out another pack from inside her jacket. "This is a perfluorocarbon emulsion transfusion kit. It's concentrated but we'll still need to get a line in. I think it should only take about twenty minutes to run through so providing…" she trailed off when she realised she no longer had Scott's attention. "Are you listening to me? Are you okay?"

Scott sat back and felt the energy drain from him until he was sure that there was nothing left inside. But for the shaking sensation, he felt numb.

The Colonel whipped a hand across his face. "I said, are you okay?"

Scott swiped at his jaw, his focus returning. "What did you do that for?"

"You shouldn't be dehydrated." She reached for his wrist to take his pulse "And this is certainly not the time for exhaustion."

" _Exhaustion?_ " Scott exclaimed, starting to pull himself together. "I'm fine."

"You look it." The Colonel fired back sarcastically but she didn't dwell on it. "The doors will blow at 2200. Be as far away as possible and as soon as the dust settles, go." She unclipped one of two watches on her wrist and held it out. "Take this to gauge the time."

Scott took the proffered timepiece. "We did have watches."

"Which were also transmitting a live GPS signal," The Colonel responded. "They've had a date with a vat of battery acid."

Scott didn't comment, ignoring her as he finished off the clasp.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that your brother's condition will mean he can't get out under his own steam."

Scott was instantly defensive. "I'm not leaving him, if that's what you mean."

A flicker of a smile crossed the Colonel's features. "I wouldn't expect anything less. You are International Rescue. But we've just established you're bordering on exhaustion, have we not?" She gestured to his still-shaking hands.

"Adrenaline."

"I don't think so," she persevered. "But there is another way."

"Yeah?"

Her eyes strayed to the gun, then back to Scott to check he understood.

"No," Scott shook his head. "No. Absolutely not."

"It might be kinder," she pushed. "He's comfortable now. Properly done, I promise you, he wouldn't even feel it."

"I said no." A flash of anger in his eyes at the very suggestion.

"There's no shame in not wanting to do it yourself, I could…."

"I said no!" Scott rumbled. Realising his voice was getting louder and they may be discovered, he took a deep breath to control himself. "You put a bullet in him, the next one's got my name on it."

"If that's how you want it," she acknowledged with a nod. "Are you sure you can do this? Sacrifice yourself and possibly International Rescue's future for him?"

Scott leant forward, holding her eye contact and putting every ounce of strength and determination in to his words. "I'll do anything to get him out of here… alive," he vowed. "Whatever it takes."

"I admire your dedication but you have to be realistic. It will take you more time."

"So, buy me more time," Scott's reply was almost back on a par with the man who commanded International Rescue in the field.

The Colonel took a few moments to consider it and then nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll think of something. The medicone will hold for now but only until he's moved. He'll bleed again and there's the danger that moving him will shift the bullet. You'll need to be as quick as you can." She picked up the pack she'd previously discarded. "Hold this," she instructed as she pushed up Virgil's sleeve and went about setting it up. "I've already requested medical assistance at the rendezvous from John."

Scott's gut tightened a little. He knew his family would have been worried sick before, but that bombshell would really crank up the tension on Tracy Island.

Having completed her task, the Colonel passed him another gun.

He found himself staring at it.

"Whatever it takes, you just said. Besides, it's one of yours," The Colonel turned it to show him the International Rescue insignia on the butt, the yellow background signifying it was Virgil's.

"Thanks." Duly taking it, Scott placed it with his own weapon.

"I must go."

With that Scott found himself alone with only the shallow rise and fall of Virgil's chest to convince him that they would ever get out of there.

XxxX

Gordon went through the, now customary, security features and walked into the cockpit of Thunderbird Two. He was in time to see the cockpits chair swivel just enough for his heart to skip a beat. In his head he knew his brother was being held against his will a hundred miles away from their current position but in his heart, for the briefest of seconds, he expected that chair to swivel around and reveal Virgil.

Sure enough the chair swivelled but the occupant was Lady Penelope.

Gordon tried to mask his disappointment.

"All checks on One are complete, nil found," he reeled off. "Alan's just left for Somalia. I couldn't get through to Base." He dropped down into one of the passenger seats. "Apparently, Dad's 'busy'. John's aware though." The chair alongside him was littered with pieces of paper and two open files, which he recognised as Scott and Virgil's medical files. He plucked a piece of paper at random, Scott's serious expression staring back at him from the top right corner. "Penny, what do you need these for?"

Penelope gave him her best poker face, "I am compiling a briefing on Scott and Virgil's physical scars and medical history. It may assist the team in identifying them."

Gordon wasn't naïve; he knew why Scott or Virgil might need to be identified through distinguishing marks such as scars or previous broken bones and none of the reasons were pleasant.

"Where's Parker?" he frowned, changing the subject.

Penelope checked her watch. "I sent him for some tea. That was a while ago."

As if on cue there was the sound of rattling tin at the door and muffled grumbling. Realising Parker was struggling; Gordon opened the door from the inside.

Nodding his thanks, Parker entered and set the tray down.

"I've been thinking about Plan B," Gordon spoke as Parker finally sat down and Penelope began to sip at her tea. "If this all falls through, we could use Thunderbird Two's heat image radar scan to fly over the complex. It would give us a more accurate idea of how many people were in there. Then, we'd know where to target a gas attack. Gas is the only thing I can think of that won't injure Scott or Virgil..." He paused as his thoughts turned morbid once more. "At least any more than they are injured already."

"We don't know what ground to air capabilities they have," Penelope countered. "Thunderbird Two could be under attack and I know Virgil might consider this concept blasphemy, but it's hardly the most manoeuvrable craft in the fleet."

Gordon had already thought of that and shook his head in dismissal, "Our thermal imagining radar is pretty powerful. I think we could do a sweep over at height and still get a decent image."

Penelope agreed. "Quite possibly, we don't need to have an army of people for that kind of assault, we just have to convince those inside the compound we do."

"Exactly," Gordon was pleased that she could see where he was coming from. "If we gassed out the whole thing, we could get in, find the guys and get them out."

"We'd have to be very specific with our gas missiles and ensure all those inside were unconscious. Obviously, a certain amount will be dissolved by the air, and be less effective. We're also making the assumption they don't have any capabilities to evade a gas attack such as breathing apparatus. We'd need to monitor the facility to ensure we attack at the optimum time; minimum number of people outside the facility."

"John could do that…" Gordon's words were cut off as Penelope's phone began to vibrate and play a tune.

"I do apologise, Gordon," Penelope's attention diverted to check the caller ID. "I must take this I'm afraid. It's my Mossad contact."

Gordon gave a quick nod of understanding, "You want me to leave?"

"No, it's quite alright," Penelope smiled at him. "But best to keep a low profile."

Before Gordon had agreed the request, she'd answered the call.

"Shalom, Maya."

"Shalom, Penelope," a female voice replied; her accent Middle Eastern but her spoken English was very clear. "I am sorry I have not called sooner. Things here have been very busy." There was a pause. "And I will admit to you, I have avoided calling you back."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Maya." Penelope responded calmly. "Dare I ask why?"

"Because, my friend," Maya's response came with a hint of trepidation, "I fear what you will ask and what I will tell you, may compromise us both."

XxxxX

Virgil opened his eyes to be met with the same grubby surroundings. An intermittent flutter of air tickled his jaw and he rolled his head as much as he could, to see his brother sleeping alongside him. Scott's facial muscles were relaxed, highlighting his drawn features but there was movement underneath his eyelids. The kind of erratic movement of someone who was far from peaceful, at odds with the rest of his expression.

All of a sudden, Scott's breathing changed and he wheezed in his sleep, his eyes opened just in time for him to dissolve into a coughing fit.

Virgil wanted to reach out to him, offer some gesture of comfort but he could only watch as his brother recovered.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" Scott apologised. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess, not so cold," Virgil watched him critically, suddenly aware of how pale Scott was and how haggard he looked. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"You sound a lot better," Scott ignored the question and gestured to the discarded medical paraphernalia. "That PCFE transfusion and the medicone probably just saved your life."

"For now," Virgil was under no illusions about his own health but his concern was for his brother. "Scott, I need to know, if you're not …."

"It's not me we need to worry about. It's you." Scott briefly met his gaze before his eyes darted away in a telling sign. "We have until 2200 hrs then the doors will blow …."

"You look exhausted." Virgil attempted to interrupt again.

"Yeah, well," Scott mustered up a smirk. "You're not looking too hot yourself right now."

"If there's an opportunity for you to get out of here," Virgil ignored him. "I want you to promise me you'll take it."

"We'll take it." Scott cleared his throat but his chest shuddered again.

"No, _you'll_ take it. Just…" Virgil started to take a deep breath and then grimaced. "Just leave me one of those." He lowered his head towards the two firearms by Scott's thigh.

Scott bit his lips together and shook his head. "Virgil, I'm done talking about this. We made a decision."

" _You_ made a decision." Virgil corrected.

"Yeah well, I'm the damned Field Commander!"

Virgil raised an eyebrow at the sudden angry outburst, which was enough to prompt his brother into back tracking.

"I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry." Scott shuffled closer to him, almost touching. "I can't deal with this. We get out of here. Together."

Virgil watched Scott teeter on the brink of falling apart before he regained control of himself.

"What exactly did she do to you?"

"I told you. She faked it." The lick of the lips and the way Scott's vision wandered was all the evidence Virgil needed that he was holding something back.

"Scott…"

"Please Virgil." That same clipped tone. "Not now."

Scott needed to stay focused and Virgil was all too aware of that. He decided to file this conversation for use at a later date. He looked his brother in the eye and offered him a nod. "So long as you promise me you're okay?"

"I'm okay. We have about 45 minutes. We should only move at the last minute, I'll give you the painkiller shot but …" Scott trailed off and Virgil followed his gaze down to the damage to his chest. Neither needed to spell it out. "Moving's going to be ..."

"Yeah, I figured." Virgil had spent a long time considered exactly that.

"Do you think you can walk?" Scott asked.

One corner of his mouth raised higher than the other, Virgil attempted a smile. "I can try."

"Good."

He was pleased to see the gesture returned and that his words had buoyed Scott's spirit. It reassured him that Scott believed they actually stood a chance. Even if it was only words.

The positive silence was obliterated by noise outside.

Hurried footsteps outside and the 'thwack' of whooshing air through a silencer was heard before the tell-tale thump of a body hitting the floor. The same routine repeated a second time.

Virgil reached his hand to Scott's wrist and turned over the time piece attached there to reveal that there was still thirty-five minutes to go. Whatever was going on, it wasn't part of the Colonel's master plan. They exchanged a glance before Scott raised one of the weapons.

The tension mounted as the bolts on the door were pulled back with a measured pace, presumably to make less noise if the silencer was anything to judge by.

Virgil's gaze flickered from the door to his brother a handful of times as the last of the bolts were slid back. His attention turned to where Scott's finger had moved to the safety catch and flicked it off. By the time the door actually opened, there was a gentle pressure already applied.

As the Colonel entered the room and spied the weapon levelled at her, she came to a halt and squared her shoulders.

Virgil gasped in a breath and then groaned at the pain. Scott turned to him. "Virgil?

"I'm fine." Virgil pre-empted the next question. "You said 2200hrs."

"I did," The Colonel confirmed as she jerked her head towards Scott, "But then he said you needed more time."

"What about the guards?" Scott queried, using his teeth to pull the protective cap from Virgil's painkiller shot.

Virgil braced himself.

"I've dealt with it," she explained. Virgil saw her look directly at Scott and challenge his disapproving expression with a dramatic roll of the eyes.

"Scott," Virgil raised his arm a little, ready for any relief. "Come on…."

"He's right," The Colonel was urging. "We don't have much time, if Kasim finds me down here, he'll …"

Whatever she was about to say faded away to nothing as the shadow at the door spoke over her.

"Kill you?"


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

Not for the first time over the last few days, Jeff Tracy rubbed at his eyes to the point of inflicting pain. He replaced his glasses, his vision wandering to some photos in the open file on the touch screen in his desk. The project was an update to the Mole's security systems but the photographs had been taken whilst Virgil and Scott were in the hangar working on what looked to be one of Thunderbird Two's air filters.

Jeff tapped on one of the photographs to zoom in on the background. Scott and Virgil were both dressed in blue overalls. A small IR insignia was just visible over the chest on Scott's and Virgil's were tied scruffily at the waist revealing an off-white t-shirt. A t-shirt that, if his mother had been alive, would have been thrown out twelve months ago. Scott was handing his brother some kind of wrench and Virgil was grinning in response to Scott's smirk. Jeff doubted either of them realised how happy or relaxed they appeared. He felt a twinge as his heart ached in a way he never thought was possible.

This could be the end in so many ways.

His attention was diverted when a pop up materialised over the image of Scott's face. _'Penelope- 1 Msg_ ', it flashed. When he opened it, it revealed the words: _'Do nothing. Will contact ASAP.'_

With the slightest of hesitations he operated the in-house intercom to the laboratory.

"Lab."

Tin-Tin sounded flustered.

"Tin-Tin, could you tell Brains to take a rain check on that call I asked him to make, please?" He pre-empted any further confusion by adding, "He'll understand."

"Yes, Mr Tracy," came the reply, before a soft click signified that she'd closed the connection. Surprised but not at all offended, Jeff's eyes returned to the touch pad in his desk.

That air filter had been changed last weekend and Jeff found himself wondering if this image of his sons, in which they didn't even qualify for centre stage, could be the last he'd ever have.

XxxxX

Gordon shuffled uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Thunderbird Two's cockpit, listening to the conversation. It was clear that these two women had great respect for each other, but neither of them were fools. Even with his military experience, Gordon was confused with the politics they were discussing. He heard the term 'Operation Boomerang' and when mental images of a bright orange boomerang whipping around the Middle East had sprung to mind, he knew he should remove himself from the situation before he appeared unprofessional.

The ideal excuse arose as Thunderbird Two's control panel alerted him to the fact that Thunderbird One was in the vicinity. Miming his intentions to Penelope, who was still deep in discussion, he'd managed to stifle his amusement long enough to slip out from of the cockpit.

Striding further into the bowels of Thunderbird Two, Gordon headed to where he knew Alan would enter the mammoth machine.

"I don't think Virgil would like that." There was a hint of humour to Alan's voice as he spied Gordon walking towards them. "Tom," he pointed to the dark haired man alongside him, "Gordon. Gordon, this is Doctor Tom Jackson."

Gordon held his hand out in greeting, "Hi, nice to meet you…"

Tom grimaced as he offered a hand in return. "Maybe if it had been under better circumstances."

"Tom's ex-WASP," Alan explained, hopeful he was providing Gordon with some common ground.

"Me too," They started to walk. "When did you leave?"

"About five years ago," Tom filled him in as Alan took the lead through the maze of corridors. "Ironically, I took medical retirement. I developed a heart murmur; only a mild one but you know how it is."

Gordon scoffed with irony. "Yeah."

"Anyway, decided to see a bit of the world with my lump sum but then got caught in Somalia." He blew a breath out. "It's pretty shocking."

"I've seen," Gordon nodded. "You're a brave man."

Tom laughed, "I don't know about that, mate. What about you? When did you leave?"

Gordon shrugged off the query. "Medical discharge, nearly nine years ago."

"Not bad enough to prevent this job?"

"Do you want to see the Infirmary?" Gordon suddenly stopped walking and held a hand out to the door they had just passed, changing the subject.

"We can get you a change of clothes." Gordon directed them through the door and within half an hour, Tom was changed in to one of John's spare uniforms minus the sash.

"It's a good set up you've got." Tom was admiring the facilities. "You've got more equipment here than the entire hospital I was working at in Somalia." His attention was diverted as he examined the contents of a trolley.

Alan sidled up to Gordon under the pretence of fetching some bottles of water from the fridge. "You okay?" he asked softly. "You seem a little…. distracted."

"I'm tired," Gordon admitted, rotating his neck. "I think Penelope might be on to something. She's on the flight deck talking to one of her…" he raised his eyebrows, "contacts."

"Hmm," Alan leant against the counter and swigged from the bottle. "I hope so, we could use a breakthrough. After reading all those files … I just keep thinking about what they could be going through and ..."

"Don't. Try not to think about it," Gordon cut him off. "It won't do you or them any good."

"Do you think…" Alan swallowed. "Say we do get them back. Do you think it'll ever be the same again?"

"I …." Gordon was saved from answering the impossible as the on board communications panel lit up.

Alan was the closest.

"Infirmary."

"Ah, Alan," Penelope replied, her voice relaxed but her message alarming: "I'm about to make contact with Base and brief them on a development. I think it would be prudent for you to hear this too."

Alan and Gordon looked to each other uneasily.

"We're on our way up."

XxxxX

"Kill you?"

The Colonel's eyes met with Scott's somewhere above Virgil's head and in the look that passed between them, Scott suddenly realised that she'd had a good grasp of this situation the whole time. Because in that moment, the shock in her eyes and the sudden dilation of her pupils told Scott that this latest development was not something she'd ever expected.

"Hmm, death is so …" Kasim took a few steps into the cell and removed a firearm from his waistband to wave through the air, "… infinite. It is such an anti-climax."

"This isn't what it looks like." The Colonel's tone was calm but she held a hand out in supplication.

"Do not lie to me!" Kasim bellowed. Even the Colonel flinched as a situation Scott didn't think could get any worse, plummeted towards total chaos. He risked a glance to Virgil, who was slumped against the wall and appeared resigned to their fate.

"Do _not_ lie to me," Kasim repeated, regaining control of his temper. He flicked the gun in the Colonel's direction. "Remove your weapons."

Scott watched her carefully, waiting on some kind of signal. This was their opportunity. There was two of them. Only one of him. This was their moment.

She met his eyes and looked away, crushed. Any fleeting hope died with her next words: "I'm sorry, Scott."

Scott's brow furrowed; why couldn't she see it? She was a strategist, wasn't she? His wide eyes burned into her, trying to convey the message, _we can take him._ He looked to his own weapon on the floor in front of him, within easy reach.

One almost imperceptible shake of the head and she folded. "It's over." She looked directly at Scott's weapon on the floor. "He'd have a bullet in Virgil by the time you got the safety off."

Scott glared at her for giving the game up.

He made a dive for the gun.

Sure enough, a sharp intake of breath from Virgil stopped him in his tracks as Kasim's gun was levelled straight for him.

"Please, Commander," Kasim was patronising as the Colonel merely hung her head. "Let us not make this any more unpleasant than it has to be."

"You're going to kill us anyway," Scott pointed out. "What have we got to lose?"

"Oh, I am misunderstood! I do not wish you dead. I wish for you to suffer. And you have much to lose. If you wish to know what is truly happened here, you would move away from the gun." Kasim stepped close enough to touch the weapon with his foot but Scott didn't move. "You would risk your own life, but not his," he calculated. "Do not test me."

Scott swallowed as he glanced at the Colonel's glare and Virgil's single shake of the head.

He made no attempt to stop Kasim as he kicked the weapon a few feet out of reach.

"You betray them so easily," Kasim's attention turned back to the Colonel. "Weapons," he directed again, louder.

With a deliberate lack of speed, the Colonel began to remove the weapons concealed about her person and place them, one by one, on the floor. Without prompting, she kicked them in Kasim's direction.

" _All_ of them," Kasim pressed.

Reluctantly, she reached down to her ankle and withdrew another firearm and a knife.

Scott watched on with a mounting sense that he was so far out of his depth he wasn't sure where the surface was anymore.

"You were right, Commander." Kasim addressed Scott again. "A woman cannot be trusted. Did you think you had fooled me, Colonel?" he smirked at her. "You did not. It is I who have fooled you." Reaching inside her shirt, he withdrew another knife and sent it skidding across the floor to the small armoury now accrued.

"You…" her words trailed off as Kasim's open hand made impact with her cheek. The sound clashed with Scott's shout of 'Hey!'.

"You would not be so quick to defend her, if you knew the truth," Kasim's words were aimed at Scott. "Tell him," he ordered the Colonel. "Tell him who you really work for, hmm?" He reached in to his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper, thick and neatly folded.

The Colonel was stood absolutely still, feet slightly apart and was staring at a spot over Kasim's left shoulder. She didn't respond.

" _Tell_ him." Kasim repeated.

Still, the Colonel did not respond.

Kasim fingered the paper, clearly enjoying the theatrics. "I can think of only one organisation in today's modern world who is so suspicious of everyone that they still rely on paper."

Scott was starting to realise what he was insinuating and turned to the Colonel, awaiting a response. He didn't need to look to know that Virgil had done the same thing.

" _Tell him_!" Kasim shouted.

The Colonel did not respond at first but slowly she glanced at Virgil and then turned to Scott, offering him a pained expression which clearly revealed this would not be welcome news. Her eyes flickered away once, then twice, and she finally spoke:

"Russia."

" _Russia?"_ Scott's mouth fell open. His full attention was on the Colonel; a woman whose trust had been questionable at best but who Scott had come to believe was at least in part on their side.

Virgil was repeating the sentiment, his voice a whisper in comparison to Scott's. " _Russia?"_

A barely perceptible nod from the Colonel.

"So you see, Commander," Kasim scoffed before his lips curled in to a smug grin. "She does not want to stop a war, she wishes to create one…"


	13. Chapter 13

THIRTEEEN

By the time Gordon, Tom and Alan had entered the flight deck of Thunderbird Two, Penelope was already deep in discussion with the rest of the family.

"Ah, here they are now."

She acknowledged the new arrivals with a nod.

For Tom, any introduction seemed poor timing and so all three just slipped in to seats alongside Parker who was tapping away at a laptop computer, only pausing to swipe occasionally at the screen.

"Do you have the document I requested, John?"

"Yes," John's voice floated into the cockpit with surety. "I have it, Penny, but I'm not sure why."

"Tell me what you see."

"I see a multi-currency bank statement for an International Account," John reported.

He was distracted as he tapped a few times off-screen.

"Here, now you can see for yourself "

The screen divided a third time to show feeds from Tracy Island, Thunderbird Five and the document.

"Hmm," Penelope gestured to Parker, who repeated John's actions to put a second document up on the screen. "Spot the difference."

"It looks the same." Tin-Tin spoke up, eyes still scanning down.

"A-actually, no."

Brains stepped forward towards the screen in the lounge on Tracy Island. "H-h-here." He pointed. "There is a debit of err… one m-million dollars."

"American Dollars."

Jeff's eyes met Penelope's.

"Quite," Penelope agreed. "The financial statement that John has originates from an International Server and is a true picture of the transactions in the account. The statement Brains has, is re-routed from an _American_ Server."

"I don't get it," Gordon intervened. "Someone put a million dollars in Kasim Templar's bank account?"

"Not quite, Gordon," Penelope replied. "Yes, the account is linked to Kasim Templar but the money only appears to be there. It isn't _actually_ there _._ "

"So, it's been ghosted," Jeff concluded. "By someone in the States?"

"Virginia." Brains narrowed it down.

Jeff and Penelope exchanged another glance.

"Langley, Virginia?" John was on the same wavelength. "Are we suggesting the CIA want to make Kasim Templar think they've paid him a million dollars?"

"It would appear so," Penelope confirmed. "I can only think of one reason for that."

"He's on their pay-roll?" Alan sounded aghast at the idea.

"You think Kasim Templar is working for the CIA." Jeff had known her long enough to understand how she worked.

"I think that Kasim Templar is supposed to think so."

"It would be the perfect solution to the western economic crisis."

"And once you add his dislike of International Rescue to the mix, whosoever harnessed him to their will would be the most powerful country in the world." Penelope carried on. "Vorva is the obvious choice for controlling world finances but perhaps most convincing is that the bullets used to assassinate Sergei Vladisgov, which we can already link Kasim Templar to, were supposedly destroyed at the behest of the World Security Council by none other than… the CIA."

"So we think the CIA … what?" Alan was struggling to comprehend it all. "Got Templar to assassinate Sergei Vladisgov and start a world war to create money?"

"It is plausible." Now Penelope was nodding.

Brains stepped in again. "Ah… actually, no. Kasim Templar was in L-Luxembourg in jail when Vladisgov was err… sh-shot."

"Yes, he was," Penelope accepted. "But Templar has mercenaries who would be more than willing to assist him. He was visited three days before he escaped by two men, one of which was using an alias known to Sam Morton; the chap we originally though might've been the woman."

Jeff was shaking his head in disbelief, "So that was the viability check."

"I believe so," Penelope agreed. "If Templar could have Vladisgov assassinated from inside a Luxembourg prison, they would allow him his stipulation; a shot at International Rescue to avenge his imprisonment at our hands." She paused. "The bullet was the proof that Templar instigated the assassination; it was proof to the CIA that it was his kill."

"So, that's where we fit in?" John was sceptical. "Revenge?"

"Yes. In the grand scheme of things, International Rescue is inconsequential. This incident was a by-product of Templar's hatred for International Rescue; he had a grudge he wished to settle. He attempted to do so, whilst also satisfying the CIA's demands." Hypothesis complete, she reached for her tea cup.

"Seriously?" Gordon was equally as sceptical as John. "In exchange for shooting Vladisgov, you think Templar's demand was a hit on us? And the CIA just goes: okay, sure, you do that." He pulled a face. "No way. If Templar's condition was a crack at us, the CIA would've thought Santa Claus had come three months early; they'd want a piece of us."

Penelope ignored the sarcasm and responded to the point. "I agree entirely with what you're saying Gordon and I'm not suggesting that the CIA didn't welcome an attack on International Rescue or even actively encourage it, if it meant getting their hands on our technology or our identities. I do believe, however, that to the CIA, International Rescue would be a bonus. I'm sure that had some influence in the logic behind the decision but we are not the objective of this operation."

"It sounds …." Alan was unconvinced "… farfetched."

"Great power leads to great corruption, Alan," Penelope tried to explain. "Knowing how the CIA operate, I don't think it so fanciful." She paused to look directly at Jeff. "In fact, I think it the most probable theory we've discussed yet."

Jeff agreed. "Kasim Templar might want revenge on us but he has no interest in a world war. None of it made sense, we've all said that and you've got to admit the Western economy is most likely to benefit."

"The CIA aren't above mass murder to achieve their own objectives either," Penelope reminded them. "Six years ago they killed 250, 000 people when they shot down a commercial airplane in Canada to cause tension."

"That was never proven," Alan interjected.

Brains jumped straight in, "All the err… f-forensic ev-evidence, suggests that the missile was not only manufactured in the … err….s.. , but also the trajectory of it, to hit the way it did would have to have been err… launched inside the err… United States." He stopped realising the implications of what he'd just said. "Ahh, my personal research so my err… my theory only of course."

"Brains is right," John added in. "The victors write history. That attack in Qu'lak; some people believe the CIA were behind that to try to create instability in the East and around Vorva."

"I think that's the crux of the matter," Penelope balanced her tea cup on a nearby console. "The world's power resources are failing. People need energy and renewable energy isn't sufficient. Vorva is the future."

"The CIA would've welcomed this guy with open arms," Gordon looked directly at his father to reiterate the point. "It's a no-brainer, he's a golden bullet for them."

"Well, my question is what we do now?" Jeff wasn't interested in discussing politics or the past, and was growing impatient. "We think the CIA are involved, so what? What does that mean for Scott and …. "

"Actually, Jeff," Penelope interrupted. "I'm quite confident we can handle the CIA, after all it wouldn't be the first time we've had to do so. That's not the most concerning part of this development." She waited for Jeff's furrowed brow to straighten out again. "I'm aware that the Russian Intelligence Service have an agent undercover, attempting to secure the agreement that Russia and Gallium signed…"

Gordon's eyebrows shot up. "Agreement? I didn't think there was an Agreement."

Penelope waved a hand at him as if it was irrelevant and Gordon looked offended by her dismissal. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly everyone began to speak at once.

"The point is her orders are …."

"Her? As in a female agent? The Woman is Russian?"

"Well…"

"Why would she…"

"Scott said she was British…"

"If I could just…."

"For Pete's Sake!" Jeff rumbled, his nerves frayed to breaking point. "Let Penelope speak!" Silence reigned across the airwaves. He took a deep breath. "Go on, Penny."

"Her orders are firstly to retrieve the document," Penelope spoke steadily. "But secondly to detain the International Rescue Operatives and return them to Moscow for further interrogation…"

XxxxX

"That's not true."

The Colonel was shaking her head in denial but her attention remained on Kasim.

"Then you deny that Russia entered Gallium?" Kasim's eyes were hard with the narcissistic knowledge that she could not deny it. Any one of the world's News Companies could provide hours of footage evidencing the truth of his words.

"No, of course not…"

"You deny this was an act of war?"

"Of course I deny it. Gallium signed an agreement requesting Russia's assistance, as well you know," the Colonel challenged him. "You stole it when you had Vladisgov assassinated. My orders are to retrieve it."

Kasim's features morphed into a smirk and he rasped, somewhere deep in his chest. "That document does not exist. It is Russian fantasy to justify actions."

Scott watched the back and forth, sparing a glance at Virgil who had propped himself against the wall, a hand to the wound in his abdomen.

"There was an agreement?" Nobody seemed to register Scott's surprise.

"Trust me, I have no allegiance to Russia but on this occasion they have done nothing wrong." The Colonel was defensive. "Sergei Vladisgov was a good man. He knew the economy was failing. He knew the Western world would soon make attempts to gain control over Vorva. Gallium was vulnerable, particularly with the tensions between him and Vasilli Machov." She shook her head a little, "Machov had already betrayed Russia therefore he couldn't be trusted not to betray Gallium too. Sergei asked for Russian allegiance rather than risk civil war."

A few moments of silence ticked by as both parties digested this revelation. There were so many twists and turns, Scott found himself having to really concentrate to follow the conversation. "There was an agreement?" he repeated, louder this time. "Galium requested Russia's help?"

"Of course there was an agreement!" The Colonel's snapped response was a mixture of frustration and incredulity. Scott felt as if he'd just asked the most stupid question in the world.

"No," Kasim growled out. "There is not, and as for _you!_ " He raised a finger to point at the Colonel, control on his temper slipping. "You have no proof of this. That agreement does not exist."

"Oh," The Colonel shrugged a little, nonchalantly. "That's okay then."

Scott felt awkward. He couldn't be sure but he hoped this was some kind of farce. He looked to Virgil to portray his confusion with wide eyes and a high brow but, concerningly, Virgil's eyes had slipped shut.

Scott's initial take on the situation was proved correct when she fixed her expression on Kasim once more and every deceptive facial muscle transformed into staid defiance within seconds.

"Then the document I removed from your safe and sent to Moscow an hour ago will be of little use to them."

Kasim's expression froze.

"That is not possible. No one has access to that safe."

Scott was no stranger to the tone of Kasim's voice. His experience came from rescues where despite the odds stacking against them, they articulated a belief that all would be well. It was always a well-rehearsed act of desperation, usually as some kind of tragedy played out.

"Ahh, I see," The Colonel pushed the point. "Not that the document doesn't exist, but that I couldn't access the safe."

"You twist my words, only I and …."

"Aban? Oh yes…" Slowly, deliberately she placed a hand to her cargo trousers and pulled out a set of keys to throw in Kasim's direction. "You can have these back now. I suppose I have no further use for them. It's over, Kasim. There will be no war. Chevlock will already be requesting an audience with the WSC. He will take the agreement and prove that Russia acted within reason. Gallium will be governed as an extension of Russia."

Kasim took a step forward, ready to participate in this dance of deception. He had his own ace to play.

"You forget, Colonel, society needs war just like it needs crime…. To survive. You would be naïve to think otherwise. I'm sure the Commander, here, is very impressed. You have much in common with these incredible notions of yours to save the world. I do not think he would be so impressed if he knew what your orders were… exactly".

He threw the piece of paper in his hand towards Scott's feet. "Read it."

Scott hesitated.

"Please," he directed with an unusually smug softness. "Read it."

Scott reached down to the floor to retrieve the paper, now damp from Kasim's sweaty palms.

"Those orders are for her to return you to Moscow for further questioning," Kasim was paraphrasing the words Scott was reading, the translation from Russian to English slowing his comprehension. "She was going to keep you and your secrets to herself."

"That's not true," the Colonel interjected.

"Are they not your orders?" Kasim challenged.

"Yes," the Colonel responded calmly.

"And I doubt you have ever disobeyed an order before, Colonel. Ours in not to reason why, that is what you say, yes? So it is unlikely you would disobey this one – you agree?"

"I would not have followed it through," she reiterated.

Scott didn't move.

"You expect the Commander to believe that?" Kasim mocked. "You are a traitor to me and your country, we can not believe a word you say."

"A traitor to you yes, to my country … maybe," the Colonel agreed, "but to me, to myself, not any more. I believe there's a place in the world for International Rescue." She looked directly in to Scott's eyes, trying to convey just how much she meant that.

The moment was interrupted as Kasim began to clap.

"Very rousing, Colonel, but you must realise that despite your…" Kasim hesitated to use the same word, "belief, there is no one left to save you now. And you have told me yourself that I have no reason to keep you alive. You have made sure my mission fails, now I will return the favour."

The Colonel nodded her head ever so slightly. "Yes, of course. I can't imagine your CIA contact will be very happy with you."

Scott's head snapped up and he found confusion returning, he looked to Kasim in time to see his grin falter.

"You see, Kasim, you didn't fool me either." The Colonel shrugged and narrowed her eyes a little. "You know, sometimes I think we're not so different, you and I. Except I have learnt a lesson you will not; the ultimate betrayal is to sacrifice yourself. Your own beliefs. As a terrorist, fighting for a cause you had faith in, I could respect that. A little misguided perhaps, but I could accept you were fighting for something you believed in. But to betray that for American Dollars and power…. I can not respect that at all."

By now Scott was thoroughly confused with the way this conversation was playing out. "I don't understand, the CIA?" he began, "What've they got …."

"You sold yourself to the devil, Kasim!" The Colonel accused, totally ignoring Scott. "And you dragged International Rescue in to it to satisfy your thirst for revenge. I bet the CIA loved you, didn't they? You were just too good to be true; a world war _and_ International Rescue. It will be your downfall. They may have let you live if you'd done what they asked but now you're too much of a liability. You may as well have signed your own death certificate."

"I do not know what you're talking about," Kasim continued to play dumb.

Scott's head was spinning. In truth, he didn't know what she was talking about either but no one seemed that bothered.

"No?" The Colonel wasn't convinced. "Then the CIA officer outside isn't your contact? He didn't visit you three days before you escaped from Luxembourg?" The questions came in quick succession, with the ease of someone trained to interrogate.

"I know what you are doing Colonel," Kasim dismissed her, neither confirming nor denying her claims. "You are killing time for your extraction team to arrive."

The Colonel barked a laugh that was undoubtedly genuine. "My extraction team?"

"You think I do not know about the team in Balesk?"

Recovering from her laughter, she schooled herself to reply. "Kasim, those orders are the price I pay for withholding information from the Russian Intelligence Service." She briefly looked to Scott and he realised just what that information was. "I'm lucky they can't prove I know, otherwise they'd kill me outright. Sending me on this mission is a far more diplomatic way to rid yourself of a turncoat. This is a suicide mission. That's no extraction team, Kasim. It's a hit squad." She paused to allow any lingering amusement in the air to die off. "And, it's for you."

Kasim still shook his head in denial. "You are wrong. They give me money for services. They give me immunity."

"They'll give you a bullet," the Colonel told him sternly. She studied him for a moment and Scott saw her expression change, soften a little, as she realised: "You really don't see it do you?"

There was no answer.

"The Western Economy is failing," The Colonel she explained with more patience then Scott would ever credit her for. "Something must be done before it collapses completely. On the cusp of economic calamity, what better solution than war? A good old war will make everyone rich, it's a tried and tested fact. You're no double agent, Kasim, you're the fall guy."

Kasim maintained his denial. "You are bluffing."

"Am I? On a good day, maybe if you'd given them International Rescue on a platter… ... But you can't provide them with the secrets to International Rescue. You can't even say you've succeeded in creating a war. The CIA will kill you when that hit squad from Balesk enters this complex and to the world, you'll be just another madman terrorist whose plot was foiled."

Kasim didn't speak.

"It's win-win for them. But you're right about one thing though. I _am_ killing time." She lifted a finger to point over Kasim's left shoulder. "Until that little red dot stops flashing and this whole place goes up."

As Kasim turned to look, she charged towards him. Pushing him against the door and grappling for the gun. He was stronger but she was more agile and they wrestled for control, pushing the gun upwards to the ceiling then to the side and then alternating between them at chest level.

Scott was two strides towards assisting when the weapon fired once. Then twice.

He froze.

Eyes drawn to the solid red light in the hinge of the door, suddenly he realised that it wasn't flashing anymore … …


	14. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

"Operation Boomerang?" John sounded unconvinced. His eyes met Gordon's through the video feed silently questioning whether his brother thought this was as crazy as he did.

John's scepticism didn't seem to faze Lady Penelope in the slightest. "Yes, John. It would seem there may have been a reprisal. Thames House has always…."

"I'm sorry, Lady Penelope." Gordon was apparently the only one prepared to vocalise what his brothers were all thinking. "But this is …"

Jeff had already picked up on the looks being exchanged between his sons. "The last 'Operation Boomerang' was before your time, Gordon. They call it that because every decade or so someone has the bright idea to create some kind of team made up jointly from the CIA and MI6."

"It's then vetoed by politicians, or there are too many arguments about Sharing Protocols and it never comes to fruition," Penelope explained.

"Either way." Jeff dismissed it. "It seems to come up every now and again, then goes quiet for a few years."

"So it's affectionately known," Penelope seamlessly continued, "by those in the know, as Operation Boomerang."

"Because it keeps on coming back." John concluded and was rewarded by nods from those members of their group apparently 'in the know'.

"If some kind of 'Operation Boomerang' is live now. Do you think they could be behind this? The UK would benefit just as much as America." Jeff's question was directed towards Penelope.

Penelope's nod was thoughtful. "It's a possibility. Mossad are under the impression that the CIA and MI6 are collaborating so I certainly wouldn't rule it out."

"You still think this is about creating a war for money?"

"Most things are, Gordon," Penelope's response was tinged with sadness. "I think International Rescue is collateral damage."

"Hmm," Jeff grumbled. "I don't think it can be collateral damage if it's coveted."

"No, perhaps not." Penelope had to admit he had a point.

"What about the Covert Ops Team, Penelope?" Gordon made a show of checking his watch before he continued. "They're due within the next hour, might they be acting under the command of this Operation Boomerang?"

"Quite possibly, it's certainly something we should be prepared for. There was always a desire to gather strong links with International Covert Ops Teams. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the team en route to us now isn't 22 Regiment."

"SAS?" Gordon surprise manifested in his high brows; remembering that was a term he'd heard during his service.

"Hopefully …."

"Urgent Message!" John over-rode whatever his father was about to say. "There's an explosion in Qu'Lak. It's…." It wasn't often John was lost for words. "…it's off the scale."

Gordon moved to the pilot's seat, his fingers flying across the control panels to bring up a digital map of the area. Alan stood to look over his brother's shoulder. He let out a strangled moan. "Oh God, look at the heat readings … ….."

Alan's comment lingered in the air suddenly thick and heavy, as for a few seconds all anyone was capable of doing was watching the changing depth of the red patches on the live feed from Qu'Lak.

Jeff took control. "Gordon, you need to get to Qu'Lak …. Now!"

John's eyes met Penelope's through the video screen, possibly the only other person present showing any remote capability of understanding the political consequences of that order.

Penelope understood John's reluctance to raise concerns when it was the most promising chance yet to liberate his brothers. She attempted to redirect proceedings. "Yemen are not requesting assistance. I think I'm correct in saying that if International Rescue…."

"I don't give a damn!" Jeff erupted so loud that the speakers rattled in Thunderbird Two.

Shocked silence reigned across the airwaves.

It lasted only a few seconds and then Jeff regained control.

"Look, we know they need medical assistance. Get Two to Qu'Lak. Find your brothers and get out. Gordon," He paused for a heartbeat, ignoring the way Penelope was staring at him. "Any means necessary. You have my permission to use as much force as you see fit."

"Yes, sir."

"Penelope." He made minimal eye contact. "I want you to stand guard with One – anyone gets too close, shoot to kill."

"FAB," was her terse reply.

"Mr Tracy!" Tin-Tin entered the room at a jog.

"Tin-Tin, not now, there's …." Jeff Tracy's dismissive tone was halted when he saw the look on her face.

"Mr Tracy…. It's Scott!"

XxxxX

Scott blinked hard against the dust still settling around him, his eyes watering against the tiny fragments of plaster and ground cement hanging in the air like fog. His ears buzzed from the sound of the explosion and it all added to his disorientation, making it feel quiet and eerie. A right-angled blob of colour focused into the corner of a lump of concrete inches before his eyes. Whatever he was laying on was not hard or angular but then there was an intermittent billow of air against his cheek ….

The roar of the explosion faded until he could hear a soft mumble: "Sc… Scott."

"Virgil?" Scott's chest shuddered as he breathed in the dust of what had once been their prison cell, dissolving in to a fit of coughing and spluttering that rocked his whole body.

He heard Virgil's groan at the movement without any issue. "Sc… Scott, can you m… move?"

Flexing his fingers and toes, and gingerly unwrapping the arm he'd used as a cocoon to protect his own head as well as Virgil's, Scott replied. "I'm okay."

"Not…" Virgil growled out. "What I … asked."

Scott suddenly realised why hot air was being puffed against his cheek at regular intervals. He had no idea at what point in the proceedings he'd actually thrown himself over his brother but it was evident that, despite his intention being to protect Virgil from the explosion, the weight of his body had only caused his brother additional pain.

"God, Virgil!" He raised himself up on his hands, took his own weight and then rolled himself off his brother's chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered out against the coughing as yet more dirt showered down on his brother. "You okay?"

Virgil was gasping for air, his face scrunching up with discomfort. "Mmm."

"I'm sorry," Scott repeated. He moved his head to look around but it was like staring in to fog as the aftereffects of the explosion continued to create a sandstorm made of plaster and powdered down cement.

"M'okay. I'm okay." Virgil's words were clear but Scott saw an anxiety in his eyes. He followed Virgil's vision down to the wound and his stomach rolled as Virgil slowly pulled his hand away to reveal blood trickling underneath his fingers.

"We have to go," Scott spluttered out. He spied the hole where the door once stood and started to put an arm around Virgil's shoulders.

"Scott… don't." Virgil's bottom teeth grazed his lip and his head lolled back as if he had no control over the movement. Scott's gut clenched with the reminder that Virgil's condition meant they were running out of time.

Fast.

"Listen to me," Scott resorted to command mode. "We have to get you out of here. We don't have long …"

"I'm…bleeding..."

Ignoring him, Scott continued to weave an arm under his brother's neck in order to pull him up.

"No. Don't…"

Virgil gripped his arm and Scott's frustration exploded. He found himself with a hand either side of Virgil's head, fingertips white with the pressure they were applying as they pinched into his brother's cheeks. "I'm not listening to this. We don't have time!"

After a second or two, the spike of emotional energy waned away. Scott allowed his head to drop until all that would be visible to Virgil was his hair. Which also meant all that was visible to him was the gaping wound that was slowly killing his brother right in front of his eyes. The waft of metallic blood was too much. He raised his head again.

"I don't know how many times I have to say this to you but I'm not leaving here without you."

"Not me, …. Her…" Virgil whispered out. His gaze passed over Scott's left shoulder refocusing into the foggy abyss.

About five feet away, only the Colonel's head was visible between slabs of mortar and bits of cement. Waist down was hidden underneath the rubble. Scott could see the blood carving a path through the grit down her face.

"Don't move." Scott licked his lips, decision made. "Keep your eyes open. You hear me? You give up on me now Virgil, and I swear to God ..."

He didn't finished the sentence.

With an ironic smirk, Virgil responded, "'m not going 'nywhere."

"Good. Because I'm making that an order."

Turning away from Virgil, Scott moved towards the Colonel, eyes searching the rest of the debris for any signs of Templar. He retrieved his weapon from the rubble before continuing towards her. Kneeling down to test her pulse, the adrenaline was pumping hard through his veins and he nearly jumped out of his skin when she opened her eyes.

Seeing that she was conscious, Scott's attention moved to the slab pinning her down.

"No," she coughed. "There's no time."

Scott disregarded her words but as his hands moved to shift the concrete, she reached out to clasp his shirt.

"Scott," she insisted. "You can't save us both. Go."

"I can't just leave you here to die." His voice was barely a whisper. Far too many years of experience weighing up balances and chances told him that was exactly what he needed to do if Virgil even stood a chance at survival. He stared at her blankly.

"This can't be for nothing. International Rescue has to survive. He has to survive." Her eyes slid to where Virgil was propped up against the wall. " _Go_."

Scott found his own vision following. He didn't need the Colonel's next words to remind him: "He's dying, Scott."

Scott wished there was another way. He felt he should say something to acknowledge what she'd done for them and he had so, so many questions he needed answers to.

"He saves lives." The Colonel interpreted his lack of action as hesitation. "I take them." She gurgled out an ironic chortle. "It's not the hardest command decision you've ever had to make."

Scott gave a brief nod. "If there was another way …." he found himself saying, a little more emotive than his usual control would allow.

The Colonel cut him off. "It's better like this. He's bleeding; you'll need to carry him. Take the boots off the first dead man you come across, and the weapons off any others after that. Shoot to kill. Go." When he didn't move fast enough, she reiterated: " _Go_!"

Scott reached down for her shoulder and squeezed it tight, hoping to convey all the things his lips couldn't articulate.

"Scott!"

He hesitated.

"I would never have betrayed you." Her eyes met his, clear and untarnished by deceit. "You need to know that."

Scott nodded.

"Good." She let out a breath. "Now, go."

Scott spared her one final glance as headed back to Virgil, but she had allowed her eyes to close, content with her fate.

"Come on," he returned to Virgil to find blood pooling on the floor. "W're getting out of here. You hear me?" He reached for Virgil's arm and there was little resistance as he pulled his brother to his feet.

"Now, we've got to keep the pressure on this, okay?"

Virgil groaned as Scott pushed harder to stem the bleeding. His legs crumbled, his body threatening to fall back to the floor. Scott caught him, holding him upright with some difficulty and placing a hand on his neck to try to support his head.

"This is going to hurt you more than it's going to hurt me, Buddy." He kept talking in an even voice, unsure how compos mentis Virgil was. With that he heaved Virgil's arm across his and dragged him towards the door.

After that, everything was exactly as The Colonel had said it would be.

After commandeering a pair of boots for his shredded feet Scott successfully navigated the tunnels leading to another gaping hole in the complex, gunning down the minimum number of hapless combatants who'd stumbled across them and still managing to drag Virgil along. Retrieving the keys to the vehicle, he'd bundled Virgil into the passenger seat and discarded the weapon he reasoned was now empty into his brother's lap. Virgil was a dead weight, mumbling incoherently and his head lolled forward with a jerk. As Scott clambered into the driver's seat and started the engine, he risked a glance and felt a newfound sense of panic.

"Virg?" He reached a hand to his brother's leg to shake gently. Virgil didn't stir. "Virgil?" he called, louder this time. "You with me? Come on, Virgil, I didn't drag your butt all the way out here for you to die on me now. Huh?" Still no response. "Talk to me… Virgil? Come on." He was getting desperate. "VIRGIL?!" he screeched.

"S'cold. S'snowin'?"

Scott started to move the vehicle forward at a faster pace and tried to make sense of his brother's muddled thoughts. He scanned the interior for anything to distract him. "Snowing? What are you talking about? Huh?"

"Snowin'," Virgil repeated.

"Virgil," Scott kept talking but he knew that there was an element of panic creeping in to this tone. "We're in the dessert, it's not snowing." He reached towards a compartment and a cloud of powdered cement dusted the interior of the truck from his filthy clothes. Suddenly it made sense. "Ahh… no, that's not snow, Virgil." He continued to rummage through the compartment and lunged when he saw a phone. Dividing his attention between switching on the electronic device and what could barely be called a road, he was relieved to see adequate battery and signal strength. "Here," he dialled the prearranged, highly encrypted code Brains had been adamant was only to be used in absolute emergencies. "Take it," he pushed the phone against Virgil's leg. "Virgil, take it."

Blindly Virgil's blood-caked hand fumbled for the small electronic device.

"Come on Virgil!" Scott's voice was louder than necessary; his frustration and desperation translating to shouting somewhere along the line.

"Scott?"

"Tin-Tin!" Scott found himself raising his voice over the straining of the truck's engine, "I need…"

"Hold on, Scott," Her soft tone was like music to calm his soul. "I'll get your father."

XxxxX

Jeff Tracy could hardly believe what he was being told. He glanced between Tin-Tin and the sound-only display on the video screen on his desk.

"Scott?" The hope in his voice was tentative. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," Scott heaved out a heavy, relieved breath at the sound of his father's voice. "Yeah it's me, Dad."

"Thank God!" There was sentiment in that. "Are you okay? Is Virgil okay?" The questions began.

"Virgil's been shot," Scott blurted out, foregoing all the usual pleasantries. "He needs medical help fast. He's barely conscious any more. He's lost a hell of a lot of blood. He's in a bad way, Dad."

"Tell me where you are," Jeff instructed but his hands were also gesturing at John's display on the wall directing him to check.

"I…" Scott sounded distracted. "I don't know, I have a GPS here but… I think I'm heading towards Tehbna. I'm driving a white truck." He paused. "I need you to keep him talking."

Jeff reached for pen and paper on his desk, scribbling down everything Scott was saying. He swallowed thickly at the unspoken undertone to Scott's words.

"Virgil," Scott sounded further away. "Virgil! It's Dad. Come on! How about you talk to him, huh?" he was encouraging.

There was a rustling on the line before a sound that tampered down any hope that Jeff had allowed himself to have.

"Dad?" The voice was recognisable but for all the wrong reasons.

"Virgil … Son …" He tried to sound calm. His thudding heart told him he was far from it. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"Dad," Virgil breathed. "… S'not safe."

"Dad's safe, Virgil. Open your eyes, he's on the phone. Talk to him."

"Tell me where you're hurt, Virgil," Jeff tried to keep his words clear.

"Shot," Virgil murmured. "Stom'ch."

Jeff's pen hesitated on the top curve of his 's'. People didn't just walk away from gunshot wounds to the stomach, particularly left untreated.

"Bleedin'," Virgil swallowed. "Lots'of…. Blood."

Jeff steeled himself to ask the next question. "How long have you been bleeding, son?" He looked to John and acknowledged the message his space bound son had just sent him as the text materialised in front of him on the screen. "John," he said. "Dr Jackson needs to hear this." Then he turned his attention back to the video phone. "How long, Virgil?"

"Dunno," Virgil replied. "Coupla … Y'st'rday?"

Jeff felt his heart miss a beat.

"He's had 25mg of Napraxomorph about twenty minutes ago and a condensed PFCE transfusion … I don't know….probably over an hour ago, the medicone held until we moved but I think the bullet's shifted. He's deteriorating fast and he's losing a hell of a lot of blood. He needs a doctor, Dad."

"It's in hand, Scott. Concentrate on driving, son. Virgil, how do you feel now?"

"M'dicone …. Help'd." Virgil continued.

"That's good," Jeff encouraged.

"Bleedin' 'gain," Virgil carried on as if he hadn't heard.

"Scott," John interrupted, breaching his own radio protocol, "I have you on satellite, just keep driving. The guys are ten minutes away."

Jeff reiterated this to Virgil. "Did you hear that Virgil? Help is on it's way. The boys will be with you soon, they have a doctor with them. He can help you."

"Mmm …"

Virgil's mumble was cut short as Scott announced: "Damn it, we've got company, I'm being tailed."

John's voice burst through the speakers on Tracy Island, "I have a black SUV on radar, Scott, keep driving as fast as you can. The guys will be with you soon, they're…."

"Damn it!" Scott cursed. "He's gaining on me." There was the ping of gunshots on the metal body work on the car. "We're hit! I can't hold it!"

The screech of metal protesting echoed around the Tracy Lounge, followed by a load crunch and then the eerie hiss of steam.

"Scott!" Jeff rose to his feet so hard that his chair clattered backwards to crash into the sideboard behind him. "Virgil!" He shouted. "Answer me!"

The voice that responded wasn't one he recognised.

"Freeze!"

The accent was American.

"I said freeze or I'll shoot!"

Then the tell-tale double click of a gun being readied for action.

Jeff's balled fists rested on his desk, his every muscle taut with a need for action but equally frustrated by the knowledge he could do nothing but stare at an inanimate videophone. A videophone that could be about to provide him with sound-only coverage of his two eldest sons' murders.

"Identify yourself."

"We both know that's not going to happen…."

Jeff's relief at hearing Scott's voice was short-lived.

A gunshot blasted through the speakers; loud, brash and vulgar.

After that, there was only silence.


	15. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Gordon Tracy had lived through several events in his lifetime that still haunted his worst nightmares but nothing could have prepared him for the disturbing condition of his two brothers or the experience of cutting Virgil's uniform from his unresponsive body.

Gordon could still feel the sticky blood on his fingers and hear the way the heavy, wet material had squelched as he'd struggled to cut through it. He'd revealed the wound and then had to squeeze his eyes tight against the wave of nausea that had washed over him. Considering his experience in dealing with injuries, that was saying something. He doubted the image would ever leave him.

Dr Jackson had rescued him from enduring it for long, taking over with the efficiency and confidence of someone who wasn't emotionally vested in his brother's survival. He'd whisked Virgil away, taking Alan as his assistant, leaving Gordon with the job of patching Scott up.

At least that was what he was _supposed_ to be doing.

Gordon gritted his teeth and willed himself to concentrate. He was part-way through stitching Scott's wrist and he knew he couldn't allow himself to be distracted by worry for Virgil.

He tried to focus on the damage to the wrist, taking the needle only just deep enough to pull the skin together. He tugged on the thread and was about to tie it off, when slight movement in the bed caught his eye.

"Scott?" Gordon moved closer but his brother's eyes didn't open. Instead, they moved erratically under the closed, bruised lids.

"Scott?" Gordon tried again, placing a hand on his brother's arm. The gesture was meant both to reassure and to safeguard the stitching. "Don't move. You hear me?"

"Ugh," Scott groaned and Gordon watched his brother raise the other arm in an attempt to pull the oxygen mask away.

"Lie still," he urged. "I'll raise the bed."

"Don't..." Scott breathed, licking his lips and closing his eyes again. "Don't raise the bed."

Gordon understood immediately. "You feel nauseous?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Gordon gave the arm another squeeze of reassurance. "You want something for it?"

"Give it a minute."

After a while Scott pulled his eyes open cautiously.

"How do you feel?" Gordon asked him.

"Terrible," he admitted.

Gordon nodded in sympathy, studying his patient to assess his current level of understanding. "That's kind of to be expected. You're been drifting in and out for a while now. Do you know who you are?"

"Scott Tracy... April four... Tracy Island... South Pacific. "

"You know where you are now?"

"Sick bay in Thunderbird Two." It was a monotone and Scott's responses were bordering on automatic. "I think we've established I'm lucid, Gordon."

"Uh-uh," Gordon shook his head and reached for a clipboard. "I have a whole heap of questions to ask you first." He made a show of running a finger down the paperwork. "What's your date of birth?"

"I already told you that."

"So, humour me."

"April fourth." The reply came with a snap.

"Where do you live?"

"Tracy Island."

"What's the phone number of that cute blonde on reception in the New York office?"

Scott scowled but Gordon was expecting it and simply shrugged. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

"Virgil's bad, isn't he?"

Gordon heaved a sigh and perched himself on the side of the bed. "He's alive. Doc thinks it's a miracle. He'd lost a hell of a lot of blood. They've managed to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding but…"

"But?"

"He'd lost so much blood, Scott. A _dangerous_ amount of blood," Gordon reiterated. "He was pretty much running on empty. It's still too early to say if there's going to be any complications."

"What kind of complications?" Gordon's answer didn't come fast enough. "Gordon!" he growled out.

"He was showing signs of cyanosis; there wasn't much oxygen getting around." Gordon sighed, hating the pained look as it stole across his brother's face.

"To his internal organs?"

"Or his brain."

He watched Scott suck in his top lip and fix his eyes on the ceiling.

"The medicone was holding but the bullet must've shifted when we got out. Maybe it nicked something. He was bleeding out so fast…. I wasted time. I should've got him out quicker."

"Scott… don't." Gordon shuffled uncomfortably. "Look, I don't know what went off down there but I do know that if I was going to get shot and tortured, I'd want you by my side. You did enough," he stressed. "You got Virgil out _."_

"Where is he now?"

"In the Triage room." Gordon was pleased to move the conversation on. "Doc figured there was less risk of infection in there."

Scott took a deep breath and resorted to drawing on the oxygen mask. "I need to see him," he said shuddering a cough.

"You're kidding me, right?" The shock of the request etched itself into every crease of Gordon's forehead. "I'm halfway through stitching your wrist."

One look at Scott's face told him there was no 'kidding' and that he didn't give a damn about what was currently being stitched.

"You just told me you felt nauseous and that you couldn't sit up. Your feet are shredded, too, by the way so how are you even going to stand to get there?" Gordon chuckled out an apprehensive laugh. "Just lie back and relax, I promise I'll let you know if there's any news."

Scott was resolute, "I said I want to see him, Gordon."

Gordon realised he was running out of excuses and brokered a pact instead; "Look, how about we make a deal? I'll finish stitching your wrist and if you haven't drifted off back to press rewind and delete on your memories, we can get John to bring up a feed of the triage room?"

There was an ominous pause as Gordon prayed for compliance.

"Okay," Scott finally agreed. "It's a deal."

XxxxX

Thousands of miles above the earth, John Tracy approached the main communications console on Thunderbird Five. Fresh from the shower and still towelling his hair, he reached for his coffee mug and took a sip. Allowing himself a moment to take in a deep breath, he expelled it slowly, watching the earth below him as it turned.

John relaxed as the holographic displays on the viewing window ticked by, denoting the different time zones. Sure enough as the one that Alan had changed to read 'Tracy Island Time', ticked around to eight am, the communications console sprang to life.

"Thunderbird Five, Thunderbird Five from Base."

John wandered away from the window and placed his mug to one side as he settled in to his chair and rolled it closer to the console.

"Base, this is Thunderbird Five, reading you strength five," he confirmed as he checked his instruments. "Go ahead."

John's eyes lifted to the main screen just in time to see the International Rescue insignia fade to reveal his father sat behind his desk.

"Morning, son," Jeff's lips pulled into a smile but John suspected it wasn't born from humour. His father's eyes told a story of weariness and what they all felt … anxiety. "Did you sleep well?"

John offered a nod, "Better than you by the looks of it, Dad."

"I managed a couple of hours," Jeff reassured him. "I'll feel a lot happier when they're all home again and I can see them with my own two eyes."

"Yeah, me too." John became wistful, wishing he'd have that luxury.

Jeff noted the change. "Once Alan's home and rested, I want you to come down here for a little while."

John's brow furrowed a little. "I'd rather the resources were spent caring for Scott and Virgil. My rotation isn't up until the end of the month."

"I know, but I've been thinking about things and I want us all together."

John watched him carefully. Clearly worry for his brothers wasn't the only thing that had kept his father up all night.

"About what Penelope said before …. " John sensed this had something to do with the future of International Rescue.

"We can discuss it when you're home." His father's response was abrupt and then he changed the subject. "Do you have an update from Two?"

"Affirmative." John checked another monitor, "Estimated time of arrival Base is one hour fifty three minutes."

"FAB," came the response. "Any update on the situation on board?"

John realised that finding out the answer to that had been his father's intention all along. He softened his tone. "There's no change with Virgil, Dad. He's stable but they're not expecting him to regain consciousness for a while. Scott was coherent when he woke last but he's been drifting in and out. Doc says that's normal."

"FAB, Thunderbird Five."

Jeff's flat reply gave John the impression that he hadn't revealed anything his father wasn't already aware of, but there was still a hint of desperation as if hoping for any new snippet of information.

"Thunderbird One will remain flying escort until they're closer to Base," he reported, suddenly distracted as a pink light illuminated on the satellite keyboard. "Dad, I'm showing an incoming call."

"That's affirmative, Thunderbird Five," Jeff's eyes were already straying away from John's portrait in the family lounge where the unmistakable voice of Lady Penelope could be now be heard.

"International Recue, England, calling Base, I repeat: International Rescue, England calling Base."

"Thunderbird Five, standing by."

John signed off as his father took the call.

"International Rescue England, this is Base," Jeff tapped at the controls that would allow Penelope's live image to be broadcast into the room. "Go ahead."

"Good morning, Jeff. I spoke to John earlier and I'm glad to hear everyone is safely on their way home." Penelope made a grand show of looking at her watch. Jeff thought he could just make out a glass of something looking suspiciously like beer in her right hand. "I wanted you to know that my intention when I return to England is to conduct a full root to branch review of our intelligence gathering capabilities. As soon as my report is complete, I'll let you know the recommendations but I'm not anticipating any problems. If I'm truly honest I rather think the circumstances were beyond our control." She smiled at him. "I ran the details of the vehicle Scott and Virgil were travelling in through a few contacts in the Middle East."

"Good thinking, Penelope," Jeff was still uneasy about the mystery surrounding the identity of The Woman. "What did you find?"

"It was stolen nearly a month ago from a place called Ka'Larn." She paused when he frowned, visibly disappointed. "To be frank, Jeff, I'm not at all surprised. I would've done exactly the same thing. We've destroyed the vehicle, courtesy of Thunderbird One's forward cannon and I can report that the clean-up operation is now complete."

Jeff was pleased to hear it. The last thing they needed now was any link to International Rescue or worse, the Tracy family name. "Good. I'm concerned this woman could still pose a risk to us. Did you get anything else?"

"Negative, I'm afraid, Jeff. The explosion was very well planned; it triggered several others on a cascade system. I'm sure once Scott and Virgil are compos mentis, they will confirm that they were extremely lucky to survive themselves. The woman's survival would be highly unlikely."

"Hmm…" Jeff wasn't satisfied so Penelope changed the subject.

"Reports from Russia would indicate that the agreement Russia and Gallium signed has been located. The WSC have invited Chevlock to attend the council. That sounds promising, wouldn't you agree?"

"Why do I get the feeling you already know the outcome of this meeting?" Jeff asked.

"Jeff!" Penelope laughed, a little coy. "I know you think very highly of my skills but even I can't tell the future." She paused to sip on her drink a little off-screen. The way she savoured it, Jeff was now even more convinced that it was beer. "However, my crystal ball is leading me to the conclusion that the WSC will realise the error of their ways. I think they were misled, but no doubt they will be in touch to offer their apologies."

Initially Jeff doubted that but knowing Penelope, this was probably her way of warning him the call would come.

"Gallium is to have a referendum," she announced. "It will remain a country in its own right, however, its political allegiance will be with Russia. In return, Russia will offer it protection."

"More power to Russia." Jeff was disgruntled.

"Well, yes," Penelope was a little offhand about the whole thing. "But I have to say Chevlock seems to be very reasonable in all this. Russia are tied to the World Security Council, after all."

Jeff harrumphed. "Only so long as they want to be."

"And, given the way they're been treated thus far, I'm not sure I would want anything to do with a council so easily led by the influence of the CIA."

Jeff had to admit, that was a good point. "It's only a matter of time, Penny." He sighed. "The war's been deferred not prevented."

Penelope's expression became sombre. "I have to say I agree. Unfortunately, civilisation needs war as it needs crime. It's basic sociology."

"So, we've delayed the inevitable," Jeff huffed, yet again.

"Forewarned is, however, forearmed." Penelope was trying to take the positives. "And we now have time to address the security concerns you discussed so as to ensure we have measures in place to deal with it when it does occur." Jeff didn't immediately respond, so she repeated the sentiment. "We now have time to decide on how best to proceed."

"Hmm."

Penelope was studying him closely and Jeff realised that maybe there'd been something in the way he'd responded that had led her to the conclusion that those decisions had already been made. Jeff had an inkling that his most trusted advisor would counsel caution, that after the anguish and intensity of the last few hours, she would say now was not the time to be making those kinds of fundamental decisions. Jeff reasoned that maybe she'd have a point.

"Now on to more pressing things..." Her words prompted Jeff to look at her directly. "It's rather a good job you're sat down," she began sarcastically. "The CIA has reported the theft of the Titanium turning rounds they were tasked with destroying, but they have given assurance that they've also dealt with the culprit." She raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Apparently, they didn't report it earlier as they were fearful they'd appear incompetent and the American people might lose faith in their integrity." She paused to incline her head a little towards the screen. "If I were an American citizen, Jeff, I think I'd feel rather insulted by that slur on my intelligence."

Even Jeff in his solemn mood, had to snicker at that.

"The WSC has of course, offered thanks to the CIA for sparing them the embarrassment of having to tell the general public that one of the world's most feared terrorists had escaped from their most secure facility. Likewise," she drawled on, "Yemen has extended thanks to the CIA for assisting them following an explosion within their borders." She raised her eyes upwards. " Thank heavens the CIA were less than fifty miles away!"

"That's the official line, huh?"

"The 'official line', as you so call it, is rather dull and boring. The explosion in Yemen was purported to have been an old mortar shell left from conflict over two decades ago. And Kasim Templar took his own life in his Luxemburg jail cell. International Rescue aren't mentioned, which I concede is obviously a good thing. However, it appears the CIA are the heroes of the hour, which I'm afraid rather grates on me when I believe them to be the villains of the piece."

"Penelope," Jeff smiled at the dramatic account. "You're starting to get cynical. It's most unbecoming of a Lady."

She let out a soft laugh before fixing him with one of her stares. "Jeff, I assure you. I am a paradox in every sense of the word."


	16. Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Scott's next encounter with reality was not unsolicited. A weight was pressing against his arm, the repetitive motion of someone's thumb.

"Scott?" The call was soft and familiar, yet there was an element of urgency to it. "Can you hear me?"

Scott pulled his lips together and swallowed back the disgusting, dry feeling in his mouth. He braced himself to be blinded by the bright lights of Thunderbird Two's infirmary but when he opened his eyes, he could just decipher another human outline.

"Son?"

That narrowed it down somewhat.

"Dad." Scott swallowed again and let out a breath. "How d'you get here?"

"Here is home, Scott," his father reassured him. "You're back on the Island."

Scott took a fresh interest in his surroundings, waiting for his eyes to bring firstly his father, and then the rest of the room into focus. Sure enough, off to one side at the counter he could also see Brains and Tin-Tin working side by side under another dim light.

"I know you're tired son," Jeff was apologetic. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you but I need to know what happened. Did…"

"Virgil?"

Jeff was caught off-guard by the interruption and hesitated.

"Gordon lied," Scott ground out against a cough then concentrated on the frown his father was sporting. "He told me he'd wake me."

"No I didn't." Gordon spoke up from where he was entering the room with evidence bags in either hand. "I told you I'd let you know. This is me letting you know… via Dad." He nodded his head towards their father, as Brains and Tin-Tin moved forward to relieve him of the bags.

"There's no change, Scott. Virgil's doing as well as can be expected."

Jeff noted Scott's brow furrow as if he was formulating a response to Gordon, and was already preparing himself to nip this conversation in the bud. Luckily, Gordon's watch began to beep, saving him the trouble.

"Stand by, Thunderbird Five," Gordon spoke into the device but he was already moving towards the door. "Go ahead…" he said, as he disappeared.

Jeff attempted to steer the conversation back on track. "Now…"

"Where is he?" Scott was already trying to push himself up on to his elbows.

"He's right here," Jeff made a point of looking over Scott's shoulder and then waiting for his eldest son to follow his gaze.

As Scott did exactly that, he sank back against the mattress and his head rolled to the left. On the hospital bed beside him was Virgil but apart from the flashing lights above him, there were no other visible signs of life.

"Will he…. Is he … Is he going to be okay?"

"It's too early to say, son. The indications at this stage are all good. We have to take that as a positive."

"Gordon mentioned there might be complications? Organ damage?" Scott's attention remained on his brother.

"We'll know more when he wakes up."

"When will that be?" Finally, Scott turned to look up at his father, sensing there was something he wasn't being told.

"Soon."

"How soon?"

Jeff heaved a sigh, and raised a hand to rub at his eyes. "We just have to wait, Scott. Give him some time. His body has one hell of a recovery to make."

"But he will… recover?"

"I think you need to concentrate on getting yourself better, son."

But Scott wasn't about to give up there.

"Dad, I need to know his chances. What aren't you telling me?"

Jeff perched on the bed and studied his son; pale, exhausted and riddled with anxiety that deep-down Jeff accepted was a mirror image of his own.

"There are no guarantees with anything. You know that as well as I do. We have to wait. We've all done everything we can, you included, but it's up to Virgil now." He gave Scott's bandaged hand a squeeze of encouragement. "For the record, I'm cautiously optimistic."

"Dad, I was so focused on getting him out. I guess …. I guess I just thought that it was over, that we were safe but we're not safe are we?"

"You're safe here," Jeff stressed.

"Virgil's not. It seems so unfair that after all the fighting to get out, he's still got to fight some more."

Jeff swallowed hard. "Nothing about life is fair, Scott. We know that better than most." He tried to smile. "Virgil's fit, he's strong and he's young. He's got all those things on his side. He won't go down without a fight."

"Dad, he was exhausted. I don't know if there's any fight left in him."

"We're not going to think like that and we're definitely not going to talk like that." Jeff stressed, this time a lot more firmly. "You're still exhausted yourself."

"I'm sorry sir, I guess I'm just ..."

"Hey." Jeff eased back. "Come on, you're okay. You're both going to be okay. You need to rest and I'm sorry I had to wake you but I need to know if there's any risk to the organisation that I should be acting on."

"There's no risk, sir."

"You can be sure?"

"Yeah," Scott licked dry lips. "Yeah, I can be sure."

"How?"

"Dead," Scott swallowed thickly. "All dead."

Normally during a rescue debriefing those words would be received with sombre expressions, platitudes of having done their best and the usual line that they couldn't save everyone. Today, Jeff couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for allowing himself the luxury of relief.

"What about the woman? The Colonel?"

Scott's eyes held a genuine sadness. "She's dead too. She was trapped."

"She couldn't have gotten out? You can be absolutely sure that she's dead?"

"She was shot and then a building collapsed on top of her. I think her chances are pretty non-existent."

"Okay, son." Jeff was finally convinced. "I don't need to know anything else. Try to get some rest now."

"Dad, if there's any change…"

Jeff didn't allow him to finish.

"Virgil's in good hands, Scott. Try to relax. You're both safe, that's the important part."

XxxxX

"Dad…Ugh!" Gordon grunted as, twenty minutes later he re-entered the room at a quick pace and promptly collided with Tin-Tin.

Bags and boxes went tumbling to the floor.

"Shh!" Jeff scolded before turning his attention to Scott.

"Sorry, Tin-Tin." Gordon was already kneeling on the floor, helping her to pile the items up as his father covered the short distance towards them.

"Dad," he looked up at his father, reducing the volume to little more than a whisper. "John said he's had the WSC on the line. They want to talk to you in person."

After his conversation with Penelope, Jeff wasn't surprised. He looked at his surrogate daughter and then his second youngest son, as they both pushed themselves wearily to their feet and dusted themselves down. Tin-Tin's hair was a mess and her eyes were red and puffy. Gordon looked pale and drained despite the clean pair of International Rescue casuals he sported.

"What exactly is all this?" Jeff turned his attention to the pile of evidence bags and boxes on the floor.

"Evidence, Mr Tracy. These are our firearms." Tin-Tin opened the box she had in her hand to reveal an International Rescue issue firearm zip tied into place. "Dr Jackson is an ex-police doctor so he secured all the evidence like this in case we needed it in the future. He suggested we might prosecute through the WSC. Brains and I will destroy it all in time."

Tin-Tin's hands were shaking and Jeff caught sight of Gordon who was watching her reaction, sadness in every line of his expression.

"Not tonight, Tin-Tin." Jeff was firm as he gently grasped her shoulders. "Gordon can lock those away in the arms cabinet for now." He gave Gordon a pointed look who took his queue to remove the box from Tin-Tin's hands. "The boys are comfortable enough, honey. Brains is here and Tom's sleeping just down the hall. Go get some sleep yourself."

For a moment, Jeff thought she was going to burst into tears but instead she composed herself with a nod, spared one last glance to both Scott and Virgil and then left the room.

Jeff turned to find Brains staring at him and then at Gordon, as if to draw his attention towards his second youngest son. He soon realised that Gordon was stood at the doors that led to the lab and the arms locker, looking at the evidence bag in his right hand and not doing a lot else.

"Son?"

He walked towards him.

"Huh?" Gordon broke from his reverie but his eyes still carried a vacant expression. "Sorry…. I was just…" He trailed off as he indicated the evidence bag in his hand unable to express what he was 'just' doing.

Jeff looked at it, really looked at it, and for the first time concentrated on its contents; the tell-tale blue material tarnished with darkened crimson, still damp enough to cause the plastic to stick together, trapping the syrup-like liquid inside.

Jeff could only imagine what it had been like dealing with it first hand, and his stomach flipped three sixty at the thought. He reached out and took the bag much like Gordon had done himself only minutes earlier.

"Come on," he encouraged, one hand creeping around his son's shoulders and leading him towards the door. "You too, get to bed."

"But…" Gordon faltered, looking towards Brains and then both of his brothers. "If there's any change…"

"I'll let you know."

Jeff was surprised when Gordon didn't pick up on the intended satire.

"What about the Security Council?" Gordon asked as the doors whooshed open.

"Don't worry about that," Jeff assured him as ushered him out the door. "It won't hurt the WSC to have a dose of their own medicine. I'll have John make contact with them in the morning."

Gordon still didn't step over the threshold. "What about you?"

"I'm going to stay here a little while longer." Jeff paused as Gordon's eyes strayed to the two hospital beds in the room once more. "I know how hard it must've been for you and Alan out there. You did well, Gordon. I'm proud of you. Both of you." He reinforced his words with a squeeze to Gordon's shoulder. "Now, go get some sleep, son."

Gordon finally disappeared down the hallway and less than half an hour later, Jeff dispatched Brains to check they were all sleeping peacefully before calling at the kitchen to replenish their coffee supply on his return journey.

As Brains stuttered out a 'Y-yes, Mr T-Tracy' and slipped from the dim lights of the infirmary, Jeff pulled up the comfiest chair he could find, placed it between the two occupied beds and settled down for the night.


	17. Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

The reassurance of being told Virgil was awake, coherent and had a lengthy recovery ahead of him was short lived. Scott knew deep down he would only be satisfied once he'd seen it for himself and so he'd spent the days since his father made the happy announcement making sure he did exactly that.

Having long since become tired of being told to 'rest', Scott had finally jumped at the chance to get out of bed. Well, jumped was perhaps a little bit of an exaggeration but he'd pulled himself to stand just to prove to Brains that he was 'rested' enough.

When Brains lost patience, and responded by telling him he would bow to his greater knowledge in medical matters, Scott had stubbornly made it the short distance to the chair by Virgil's bed. Once he was there, he wasn't too sure he was going to have the energy to get back again, so as his father had done before him, Scott had settled down to watch.

Today, he wasn't really sure how long he'd been sat there before the doors swung open. Scott watched as Brains deliberately avoided making any eye contact and scooped up the tablet at the end of the bed with a show of exaggerated efficiency.

After a while Scott cleared his throat in an attempt to break the tension hanging in the air.

"So, how's he doing today, Brains?"

"Better these last few d-days, now that he's a-awake and m-maintaining err con-consciousness. He's been err… a-asking for you." Brains didn't look up from where he was checking Virgil's vitals and continued tapping his notes onto the tablet. "Of course, you're the ... err….ex-expert."

Then he handed the tablet over, turned on his heel and left.

Scott was halfway through speed-reading the screen before he realised Brains' comment had been intended as a slur. By the time he looked up, the door was already closing and it slowly began to dawn on him just how much he might have offended his friend. Resolving to apologise, Scott went to place the tablet back on the bedside table but much to his dismay, he misjudged the distance and the tablet ended up clattering onto the infirmary floor.

Movement started between the crisp white sheets on the bed.

"Hey Virg." Scott couldn't help but smile despite being responsible for interrupting his brother's peaceful sleep. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

With that, he leaned down and gingerly retrieved the tablet.

Virgil shook his head and took his time opening his eyes. "No…. I mean, you're not disturbing me. Where have you been? I was beginning to think you were dead or something."

"I'm not the one who almost died." Scott's expression was sombre.

Virgil frowned a little. "You okay?"

"Tired, that's all." Scott wasn't sure if Virgil was referring to his mood or the fact that it was almost noon and he was still dressed in his pyjamas. "How's the pain?"

Virgil grumbled and allowed his eyes to close, slowly breathing in and out. Just when Scott was starting to think his brother was willing himself back to sleep he opened them again.

"M'Okay."

Scott leaned forward and rested an elbow on the bed. "I didn't ask that."

Virgil grimaced. "Hmm, it hurts like hell."

"I'll get Brains." Scott was concerned.

"No, I've got it." Virgil shook his head and grabbed several times at the top sheet until Scott eventually realised what he was looking for. He reached over and took the small plastic box.

"Here." He pressed his brother's hand against it, inviting him to self-administer a new dose of pain relief.

"Thanks." Virgil rested his hand over the button, but didn't actually press it. "Not yet," he breathed, squeezing the box tightly, almost as if he was worried Scott might try to press the button for him. "I want to talk to you first."

"We can talk later," Scott assured him.

"Now _._ I need you to tell me what happened."

"You were there," Scott pointed out. "You know what happened."

Virgil's eyes sporadically slipped shut. "My memory's a little hazy. I remember the explosion. The Colonel… he shot her. What happened then?"

Scott took in a deep breath and expelled it slowly so that it didn't sound like the sigh he wanted to heave out. No matter how he framed this there was no easy way for him to say it.

"She's dead." He tried not to sound too detached, despite every weapon in his emotion-retardant armoury firmly snapped into place.

"Dad told me that but… I wasn't..." Virgil frowned at him then narrowed his eyes a little more. "She was trapped. You went to her. Right?"

Scott turned and took hold of the cup on the bedside table, placing the straw to Virgil's lips and quietly urging him to take a sip. He then busied himself annotating Virgil's records on the tablet. When he turned his attention back to Virgil again, he could see the distraction hadn't worked in the slightest and that his brother remained expectant he was about to get some kind of answer.

"Right?" Virgil repeated.

Scott did heave a sigh this time. "I couldn't save both of you," he confessed.

Virgil struggled with the revelation. "So, you just … left her?"

Scott's pupils dilated with an instinctive anger. "I didn't 'just' anything!" he hissed. "It was you or her, Virgil." His ire then lost impetus. "It was you or her and I chose _you._ "

Taken aback by Scott's reaction and the desperation that seemed to have followed it, Virgil took a moment to think before he replied. "I didn't mean it like that."

" _You_ save lives, _she_ takes them," Scott pointed out with bitterness. "Her words, not mine."

"Scott, you did everything you could …."

"I'm sorry," Scott spoke over him, closing that line of conversation down. Even functioning without all cylinders, Virgil could see this was going to be an issue and Scott knew he needed to change the subject quickly or risk being drawn into a discussion he wasn't ready for. "I didn't mean to snap."

Virgil hesitated before he spoke again. "What happened next?"

Scott's eyes met his in a silent salutation.

"We got to the truck. Gordon and Alan found us… There's not much else to tell."

Virgil settled back down into his pillows and stared at the ceiling. "What about the part where I shot a guy?"

"I err…." Scott started, surprised. "I was hoping you didn't remember that. You pretty much passed out straight after."

"Did I kill him?" Virgil asked him and braced himself for the answer.

Scott's hesitation spoke volumes and Virgil turned his head to look directly at him.

"I did, didn't I? I killed him," he gulped. "I killed someone."

"You saved my life," Scott asserted. "If you hadn't taken that shot, I'd be dead. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind about that."

"Do we know his name?"

Scott weighed up his options. Sometimes it was necessary, even for a brother to lie.

"No," he blinked and looked away for a few seconds. "Just that he was CIA."

"What were the CIA doing there?"

"Damned if I know," Scott admitted and this time he was telling the truth. "I think Dad's hiding something. Maybe we'll find out more once we're both out of here. Right now, all I care about is you getting better." He pointed at the box Virgil was still gripping tightly in one hand. "Why don't you get some rest, huh?"

It was as if Virgil hadn't heard a word. "Do you think he had a wife? Kids?"

"I only know that he was CIA, Virg. "

"Just _tell_ me," Virgil insisted.

"No." Scott was firm, the voice of a field commander echoing from behind the compassion of an older brother.

Virgil let out a sigh of frustration. "Scott, I know you think you're helping me…." He licked his lips.

"But I need to know."

"No, you don't." Scott shuffled closer to his brother, leaning even more on to the edge of the bed. "What you need is to concentrate on getting better. Don't you think we've both been through enough? Huh? God-only-knows how many volts of electricity not enough for you?" he paused. "Please don't torture yourself anymore. You saved my life, Virgil. That's all you need to remember."

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to the ceiling again. Scott reached out his hand to rest on his brother's bare shoulder, giving a squeeze of reassurance. The words didn't come freely and Scott realised if there were any words to say, there was no guarantee they'd be of any help. He was spared the onus of furthering the conversation when the doors were pushed open and his father stepped inside the room.

"Hi Dad," he acknowledged and slid his hand free; the comment was designed to draw Virgil's attention to his father's presence too.

"Ah, good," Jeff nodded as Virgil appeared to rally a little, swiping a hand over his face and rubbing at his tired eyes. "I'm glad you're both awake." He perched on the edge of Virgil's bed. "How are you feeling, son?"

"He's overdue some pain relief," Scott pointed out.

"I'm okay," Virgil stressed.

"Hmm," Jeff didn't push any further. "I guess this can wait."

"No," Virgil said, "What is it?"

Jeff looked to Scott, searching for some kind of assurance that it was safe to continue and that Virgil was up to comprehending what he was about to say. Scott offered a brief nod, more out of loyalty to his brother than having any confidence in his stability.

"As International Rescue's Commander, I'm ultimately responsible for the whole outfit and I've been doing a lot of thinking. I've made a decision about the organisation and I wanted you two to be the first to know."

Scott fiddled with an imaginary thread on the cuff of his pyjama shirt. He had a good idea what was to come and a part of him felt obliged to show resistance but deep down, after everything that had happened, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I've been looking over rescue reports for the last twelve months," Jeff continued, "and asking myself how the outcome of each incident would have changed if it'd happened before the organisation was operational."

"And?" Scott asked.

"We're being called out more and more to deal with incidents that, eight years ago, most domestic Fire and Rescue Services would have dealt with quite easily. I think governments are compromising their emergency services because of International Rescue. They're not invested in developing their technology because they have us. They've become reliant on us."

"Why fund their own services, when we come for free," Scott surmised, unable to keep the cynicism from his voice.

"That's one of the reasons I've decided to stand International Rescue down. Effective immediately."

Scott didn't comment but Virgil's mouth hung open.

"You're doing _what_?"

"You need time out to recover," Jeff said. "We haven't got the man power to continue operations and none of us are in a good place to be making big decisions right now. While you've been recovering, we're still receiving rescue calls and we're not in a position to assist. We have to do something and tomorrow morning, Penelope will give a press release that, effective immediately, International Rescue is standing down."

"For how long?" Scott didn't dare meet his father's eye.

"Indefinitely," said Jeff. "I don't want either of you under the pressure of any deadlines."

Virgil was shaking his head, and making attempts to sit up, clearly distressed at the idea. Instantly, Scott and Jeff collaborated to stop him.

"Virgil, don't… Lie back."

"Just take it easy, Virgil," Jeff soothed.

"But what about the people who rely on us?" Virgil asked him. "Just because Fire and Rescue services have been cut, doesn't mean they have to die. This is people's lives you're talking about, Dad."

"I know what you're thinking and maybe I am being selfish. Maybe I'll regret this decision in time but it's still my decision to make and I'd rather it be my burden than yours right now. I'll have to live with it; right or wrong. I accept that." Jeff paused for a few seconds. "I'm putting my family first because I can't risk us going through all this again. I won't risk it. And you know what? Yes, we do have a responsibility to the rest of the world but they have a responsibility to us too. And right now, we're delivering on that and they're giving nothing in return. The world managed once without International Rescue and it needs to learn to manage again."

Jeff reached out to Virgil's hand, taking it in his and surreptitiously separating him from the plastic box he'd been gripping. "I'm sorry, son. I don't want this anymore than you do, and I understand you all have a choice to make in this. But as a temporary measure, until we've all got our heads on straight enough to be making big decisions about our future, this is what's going to happen." He gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Once things have settled down again, and you're both feeling up to it, we'll have the discussion about how we're going to proceed."

"I don't like it," Virgil protested. "I want my objection on the record."

"Noted," Jeff acknowledged him. He then turned to look at Scott.

Scott swallowed. "What happened … it… it changes things. Changes us, it changes … everything."

"You think this is okay?" Virgil stared him in shock.

"No, I guess not but I…" Scott looked between his brother and his father. "I think… after what happened that maybe it's …. Inevitable. We can't go on like this, Virgil. We can't do it anymore. _I_ can't do it anymore."

"You're both just reacting," Virgil tried to rationalise this revelation. "That's only natural I guess but give it some time and you'll feel different."

"Not this time." Scott's voice carried an air of certainty. "This is bigger. This time… it's ….It's different."

Now Virgil was alarmed. "Scott…"

Jeff watched their interaction cautiously, more surprised than he was concerned.

"This isn't a discussion, boys. There will be time for that later but my mind's made up for now." Jeff's word was final and Scott knew the tone indicated that he wanted to draw the conversation to a close. "We'll revisit it when you're both well enough. Right now, I want the two of you to rest and recover."

Virgil heaved an unhappy sigh that resulted in both a wince and him grasping at his side.

"I don't like seeing any of you hurt," Jeff said softly. "Particularly when you don't have to be." Without hesitation, he hit the plunger on the plastic box.

"Don't…" Virgil was too late.

"Just relax." In a rare display of affection, Jeff fussed with the covers until he was satisfied that Virgil was asleep.

Scott watched the monitor over the bedhead for a few seconds and then reached out to feel Virgil's pulse. There was something reassuring about the steady thud beneath his fingers that the constant peak of a heart monitor just didn't provide. "He's out Dad," he confirmed.

"Good," Jeff moved away from the bed. "Your turn now." He pointed to the empty one and gestured to Scott he needed to get up.

"I'll stay here," Scott replied, his fingers still resting on Virgil's pulse point for reassurance. "I need…." He hesitated, not sure how to vocalise what he wanted to say. "I just need to stay a little while longer."

"Virgil's not the only one who needs rest, son."

"I'm fine, Dad." Scott ignored his father's insistent vibes. "Really. I'm fine."

"Hmm…" Jeff didn't sound convinced. "You don't normally yell at Brains."

"He told you that?" Scott's head came up to look at his father in surprise.

Brains wasn't one to tell tales.

"Not exactly." Jeff's vision strayed to the point where Scott felt uncomfortable and irritated under his scrutiny.

"If Brains has a problem," he snapped, "I expect him to come direct to me."

"And we both know that under normal circumstances that's exactly what he would have done. But you haven't been yourself." Jeff raised a hand to prevent Scott from interrupting. "And, he's worried about you. If it's any consolation, he didn't give it up easily. I spent over an hour coaxing it out of him while Tin-Tin cleared up the test tubes."

Scott took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself but a cough shuddered through his chest and it had the opposite effect. He glanced at Virgil to check he was still sleeping before returning his attention to his father. "Dr Jackson said I was fine. Doesn't Brains trust him?"

"Brains has concerns about that cough turning in to a chest infection and listening to that, he has every cause to worry. He thinks there may be something you're not telling him, something about some bruising…"

The question hung in the air but Scott made no attempt to clarify.

"Is there?" Jeff Tracy was nothing if not direct, particularly when it came to his son's health.

"No!" The fierceness of the reply was unsolicited and when Virgil mumbled in his sleep, Scott realised he'd perhaps been a bit loud. "I'm sorry, Dad, I guess I'm just tired."

"If something happened that you're not telling Brains, then I know you must have a good reason for that. But I'm damned if I know what the hell it might be."

"There isn't any reason."

Jeff chose his next words carefully. "Okay son, if you're sure. I trust your judgement."

"Good."

"You've got to admit though, things have been a little difficult. Brains is worried and I'm not going to lie to you, Scott. I'm worried too."

"There's no need to be. I think I'm entitled to let off a little steam. Maybe you guys should just back off?"

If there was one thing Jeff Tracy had learned during his extensive business career it was to pick his battles carefully. Today was not the day for this battle. Scott wasn't surprised when he recognised the flicker of the strategist in his father's eyes.

"You're right. Maybe we should be cutting you a little more slack. Try to remember though, it's still my job to be concerned about you."

"I'm just tired, Dad."

"Well that's kind of my point Scott." A fatherly smile tugged at the corners of Jeff's lips. "You need to rest now, son."

Scott rolled his eyes and then allowed his own smile to form.

"I walked right in to that, didn't I?"

"It's a parent thing," Jeff laughed, pointing at the other bed again. "Come on, up you get." He offered a supportive arm but Scott's attention remained on Virgil, clearly reluctant. "He's going to be okay, Scott. You both are. You've done the hard part already. You survived."

Scott wished he could believe that. "What about International Rescue? You think it's going to survive too?"


	18. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Sometime later, in a quaint little teashop along the Thames, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward adjusted the earpiece she wore surreptitiously covered by her low-sweeping hairstyle. She took a sip from her tea cup, replaced it on the saucer at a steady pace and then typed the word 'Reject' into the pink laptop perched on the table in front of her. She paused for a few moments, only half listening to the conversation being broadcast into her right ear, despite being held only three tables away.

"So, what makes you think you're suitable for the role?"

"Darling, I've worked for them all: CIA, MI5, GCHQ, WSC… I've been everywhere Spain, France, Canada, Middle East. Every acronym you can think of, I am just what you're looking for; I've been there, done it all and got the contacts to match. I can tell you what King George had for his breakfast this morning…"

She continued to type: Overconfident. Liar (King George rarely eats before elevenses). Disclosure issues. Lack of commitment. Morally ambiguous. Dubious intent. REJECTED.

She reached for her tea again, paying no further attention to the conversation and instead turning her focus to other less stressful things. She'd be needing a manicure soon and with all the pressure of recent events, a relaxing facial wouldn't go amiss, either.

She tried to get Parker's attention but, sat to her right on a separate table, he had clearly taken her instruction to be inconspicuous to the extreme and had an old-style newspaper obscuring him from her view. Knowing Parker, it was also a strategic move to allow him a snooze without being detected.

Penelope moved on to skim-reading the next applicant's details and was reaching for a napkin to dap at her perfectly pink lips when, to her surprise, her fingers met nothing but the wooden table top. No sooner had she raised her hand to get Parker's attention, then a slim blonde haired woman slipped into the chair opposite her and slid a napkin across the table in her direction.

For a moment, they eyed each other, almost as if they could read each other's thoughts. The woman's finger still rested on one edge of the napkin and for a moment Penelope just stared; as if maybe it was a gauntlet and not a napkin at all.

Parker bent the corner of his newspaper over, poised to intervene given the slightest indication and proved that he wasn't asleep after all.

Any intervention was stopped by Penelope's single raised finger. It lingered in the air for a moment and then finally descended on the napkin, sliding it a little closer before picking it up and dabbing her lips. The tension broke like a wave over the shoreline and Parker visibly relaxed back behind his newspaper.

"I'm not sure I've had the pleasure," Penelope remained neutral, the spark of an idea in her head. The woman seemed familiar, eyes dark and warm, yet her blonde hair seemed so… wrong. A home-applied dye; good effort but to a trained eye conspicuous none-the-less.

The new arrival didn't respond.

Penelope leaned forward a little, lowering her voice. "But I'm quite sure I feel I know you."

Only a smirk and chortled laugh to give any indication the stranger had even heard.

"Perhaps I've heard a lot about you of late." Penelope pressed, a glint of admiration in her eye at her deductions. "I believe we may owe you a debt. How can I be of assistance?"

"Actually," the woman replied. "I was rather hoping I could be of assistance to you… on a more…" She paused. "… permanent basis perhaps?"

By speaking she confirmed all the aforementioned deductions.

Her accent was crisp. British. Just like Penelope's … … …

 _~THE END~_


End file.
